


Love In The Middle Of A Firefight

by personalized_radio



Series: Love In The Middle Of A Firefight [7]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: AU Expansion, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Drabbles, Multi, extras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/personalized_radio
Summary: Expansions, Extras, Notes, and drabbles that were aus of the au or just didnt make it in OR were deleted scenes :)As this is a dumping ground for any and everything, please excuse anything that is non-canon-compliant or outdated





	1. Geography and Culture

here is an screenshot of how the faction territories are split up as well as some info on factions!

here is a rough map of the routes of the Important Things in the zones! color coded for my, and now your, ease of understanding (lmao) 

 

god look at THIS THING. here is the roughest layout of his compound for nyone that was every confused (and i know we will all continue to be asjdflk). the compound is obviously much bigger than this, but here is the Main Settings where most of the compound scenes take place! 

 

SHORT, BRIEF BREAKDOWN of key words and people!

 

Zonerunners – Zonerunners work for the factions who are actually fighting Better Living. Some desert people don’t want anything to do with the fight and just want to live and let live, so they stay out of it. Zonerunners run information, go on missions, carry packages, and even help transport kids to the port to take them to Australia. (Once a month, the killjoys help transport kids, and they otherwise run information missions and Frank transports info and packages to Dr. D and, if needed, will take the more sensitive information to farther faction leaders.)

Motorbabies – Motorbabies are the children of the desert. Most kids are taken to Australia when born in the desert, since it’s much easier to get them to the safety of the other country then it is for city children. When they are kept in the desert, they are referred to as motorbabies, though all children under the age of fifteen are referred to as such technically. Usually they are no longer called motorbaby after their first kill (be it drac, animal or otherwise.) All children, including those being transported to Australia and even the rare city born children found in the desert, are referred to as motorbabies until they leave the desert.

City slicker – An insult used to describe people born in the city. Desert people see city people as lazy, stupid, and much weaker then desert born people. To call a desert born a city slicker is to immediately issue a challenge. (Tragic Magic (Ronnie) as well as most of the other desert faction leaders call Frank a city slicker as an affectionate insult. The city born don’t really appreciate it but Frank gets it and usually refers to them as desert wolves in turn. The faction leaders will get onto their crews for calling him that, or might even let Frank teach the offender the lesson himself if they think it’s needed. They also refer to Pete and Patrick, and in fact most of the higher up city faction leaders and co. until both sides prove to each other that neither is better than the other, just different).

Crash Queens – Women of the desert are commonly called crash queens, but it can also refer to the more flamboyantly dressed people, be they male or female. It is not an insult and is actually a compliment quite often. Crash Queens are usually like the head bitch in charge and are quite often people that one does not want to mess with. (Though city born, many of the women in Pete’s faction are referred to as Crash Queens by the desert factions. Victoria is one of the most respected of them all.)

Killjoys – Gerard’s group. Consists of Gerard, Mikey, Ray and Frank. Bob and Brian are made honorary killjoys before they permanently join the group at the end of the story.

Dr. Death-Defying – The most respected man in the desert. Dr. D is a radio DJ that survived many raids. It is not widely known but he is actually city born, though he was raised as a motorbaby from the age of four. He has three people constantly with him, though only Show Pony is ever really known (Show Pony is Jimmy, who took up the mantle after the original Show Pony died saving Dr. D’s life. Jimmy took the name (leaving behind his original, Animal Mastermind) in remembrance) Lyn-z* and Kitty* are his bodyguards and usually stay well hidden even in trusted company (which is why it took the killjoys so long to meet hem). (**Lyn-Z is Fuck Machine, Kitty is Anonymous Witness.)

Desert Born – Born of the desert. Desert born are very protective of their heritage and culture and many hate on city born pretty hard, even those who were raised as motorbabies from a young age.

Sand and Sun – A common saying in the desert. Not many believe in God anymore or any religion (Ray is a rare exception, genuinely believing. Frank is a strict atheist except for the night he prays for his mom and Bob). Instead of a ‘God’, most desert born believe in birth right, being born of the city or the desert. Desert born are said to have sand in their blood and that their hearts beat to the pulse of the sun. To deny that a desert born has these qualities is to deny their heritage, a grave offense that not many take lightly. (Frank is accused quite often by desert born of not having Sand and Sun. When Poison can’t ‘peacefully’ convince them, Frank has no problem proving himself.)

 

Smugglers/Tumbleweeds – Because the city is much more compact than the desert, and there are not many safe sources of food and water, smugglers and Tumbleweeds sneak people in and out of the city as well as food and other things from outside the city. Much like zonerunners, they can run information as well as packages and such to and from the city. Though easy to find someone to take you into the city, it’s nearly impossible to be taken out of the city because it involved revealing secret smuggler-only passages and routes not available to just anyone. High ranking desert faction members can usually find a way but otherwise, going into the city is a one-way street unless you pay them before hand. Desert rats have forty eight hours (called 48s) until the deal expires and they are left behind.

Desert welp– an insult used by city born to describe desert born. Calling a city born a desert welp is beyond offensive and will lead to a straight up fist fight with little of the usual finesse inherent in city fighting. Most city born think that desert born are savage cowards who hide away in the desert instead of fighting BL in the heart of the industry. (Frank calls the desert faction leaders this as an affectionate insult in response to being called a city-slicker in the same fashion. Pete does not allow his people to refer to their desert allies by this name and punishes them if they are caught or lets them fight it out with a desert born to prove that neither side is better. Eventually, the insult dies out between the two people as they discover their similarities). They're actually calling them coyotes, which are always very scrawny and weak compared to the stronger city dogs.

Traders– Smugglers sell their goods to the traders, who then distribute it to the population of the city through trade. The currency of the city is usually canned food, blankets and bedding, clothes and even pretty, shiny things or things that are no longer made (much like the desert, though their currency is more bread, water bottles and ray gun ammo for clothes and such). Traders will often sell things for cheap to children, something the more sleazy people have discovered and abused.

Pete Wentz – Pete Wentz is to the city what Dr. D is to the desert. He is the driving force behind combining the desert and city forces and by the end of the revolution, he is one of the most respected men of both the city and the desert. Though he has body guards, if he is called a city-slicker, he will cut a bitch be it jokingly or not. He is the leader of the largest city faction and the most famous underground name in the city. He has a Mysterious Dark Side.

Young Bloods – Pete’s faction

City Born – Meaning born of the city. City born are also extremely protective of their heritage and culture and will not hesitate to defend it. To question a city born’s heritage is a grave mistake and most will not hesitate to kill over the offense.

Smog, deceit and shadows – The city equivalent of Sand and Sun. Because the city is perpetually cloudy due to the smog generated by the factories located in its slums (and run by the drugged population of Battery City), and the sun is a very rare sight, city born say that the smog of the sky is what fills their veins and that their souls are made of deceit and shadows, a reference to their fighting style and the way they are raised to survive.

Because the city is a much more dangerous place to live then the desert in terms of Better Living involvement, city children do not usually have a chance to run to safety. If they make it to adulthood, they must stay hidden from dracs and exterminators or they could be taken as a subject to experiment on or drugged and used in the factories (which are actually energy sucking machines, where thousands of people at a time are used to fuel Xibalba’s energy needs). Due to this difference in upbringing, usually city born children (were they to get into a scuffle with a desert born) are more likely to win because desert born are taught to rely on strength and endurance while city born are taught to rely on speed, shadows and trickery. When they are older, it evens out because one good hit from a desert born could usually take out the much physically weaker city born (who usually have much slighter body types then desert born due to the lack of proper food and water, medical supplies and a number of other such problems. This does not mean, on the other hand, that they do not use their smaller statue to their advantage).

Desert born have the advantage of being used to much harsher environmental conditions though as well as a much less diverse diet (meaning in terms of there is like bread, some very dry vegetables and fruits if you stop at the bazaar at the right time, and canned beans/dog food that hasn’t been processed by BL yet; as opposed to the city’s wider variety of less nutritious, much less filling foods such as leftover food found in the trash, canned fruits and vegetables, bread baked with cut flower and a variety of other only-slightly-healthy foods as well as much dirtier (and much more likely to be drugged) water (or juice if you’re lucky!)). Desert born children are much handier with ray guns (not used in close quarters such as city streets) and cars. Most mechanics are also out in the desert and so the desert is where most of the new technology is created before it is smuggled into the city.

Ex: Patrick’s mother was originally desert born but, like Frank was city born but felt a calling for the desert, she felt like her true home was in the city with Patrick’s father. Thus, Patrick is half city born, half desert born. 


	2. Ages and Timeline of Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very picture heavy!  
> this is a list of ages and other important character stuff + a timeline for anyone who got a little mixed up at any point!  
> please ignore any titles that dont make sense. originally, firefight was going to be the c'mon series and i would use lyrics from that song instead but i never got around to changing the titles in my notes rip

The following is what I used to keep track of ages, names, notes, themes, and anything in particular I needed to for almost every character in Firefight! My friends used to call this my Creep Chart but it was probably my most referenced document, right next to my timeline!!!! pls......dont ask me what the titles at the top of each year stand for, younger me was much better with shorthand than current me is lmaoo

 

 

Here is a slideshow I made to keep track of the timeline! includes ages :) names should be pretty easy to figure out! the images are in Size Way Too Large bc im a dumb idiot who cant size things right and theyre UNREADABLE unless theyre huge rip

 


	3. Odds and Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here are the last lil bit of notes i thought would be fun to see! this includes the hierarchy of both BL and pete's faction! these are....probably very out of date at this point lmao but they were what i was originally working with! additionally, here is some more info on patrick's PTSD and frank's DID.

Probably out of date by this point, but here is how BL was set up in Firefight for at least the first part of the series! if something doesnt make sense (lmao the doom disciples) please just ignore it! the story took a Lot of unexpected turns while i was writing it :)

 

 

Better Living Industries

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W – Desert Head: Korse; City Head: Courtney Love  
          EXTERMINATORS – Heads: 2Chainz and Shane Morris  
          Vixens (Lead by Courtney Love, former pop princess leader before the mindwipes)  
                    Bots  
                    Draculoids  
          Doom Disciples/Executives – Head Doom Disciple  
                    Scientists/Researchers  
                              Drones and workers

 

Better Living Industries – A 1984 type government that has taken over the world. They have a halfhearted face of an capitalist economy, with dummy businesses that act as competitors that are slowly dying out as their get a better grip on the masses. Though the rest of the world is just beginning to taste BL ind., North America, Japan, China, Russia and a number of European countries have already been almost completely taken over. Australia is safe for now, being so separated from the rest of the world with legal air travel reserved only for top BL ind. Execs and their death squads and top defenses set up by rebels who had the foresight to get their first. Better Living is run by two different groups.

BL ind. is run by a group of people known as ‘doom disciples’; they consist of Korse, Shane Morris, Courtney Love, 2Chains, Dr Death Adder, The Beibs, and six other unnamed members of Xibalba’s network

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W – No one really knows what it stands for, but S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W is the ‘underground’ forces used against the rebellion. In both the city and the desert, they have stationed large amounts of soldiers, be they Exterminators, Bots, Draculoids, or some mix of them all. The leaders of the group are the commanders and called simply ‘Scarecrows’, or if in a hurry, ‘crows’. Not much is known about them other than that only a few have been mindwiped and the rest are voluntarily evil. They are the only ones who are feared by most of the rebels, not to the point that they run away but to the point that they take them seriously. People not trained should not fight Scarecrows, all are trained and formidable. In many desert (and even some city) factions, it’s a common initiation right to take an Scarecrow on in groups of five or so and kill them before being allowed into the faction. They do not actually lead groups of soldiers, but go around on their own or in a pair and give orders in large battles when necessary. Taking one on one-on-one is a very bad idea.

          EXTERMINATORS – Exterminators are also formidable opponents, stationed mostly in the desert. The next step down from Scarecrows, they are usually like the generals                     to the Scarecrow’s leader. Draculoid’s in groups with more than five usually have an Exterminator, but there is also a special group of Exterminators that run in a                        single pack of five with a Scarecrow as a leader. The head Exterminators are 2Chainz (one of the lost heads when Yeezus’ faction was attacked, he was taken and                        mindwiped and has since become one of the most powerful Exterminators. It is widely known that he was the one to almost kill Mikey and Ray.) and Shane Morris,                      who is not mindwiped but simply likes to hurt people. Both are ruthless and not to be trifled with by just anyone. Both could be high ranking Scarecrows but prefer                      giving orders to wandering around alone. Exterminators in general are trained in weapons and hand to hand and most take some sort of drug or another that                              numbs pain so it usually takes a three-man team to take one down.

          VIXENS – Vixens are the women who work for Courtney Love. Like Exterminators, they are trained in hand to hand and weapons. They are best handled with teams of   
                  two, but newbies can usually take one down as long as they work together. Vixens are Very hardcore. They are absolutely ruthless and will not hesitate to fuck shit                     up. They are also extremely clever, and some double as scientists, such as their leader, Death Adder (who was also the head scientist on Project Suiteheart and                            Project Better Sight.) Vixens wear black, revealing leather mostly to distract their victims but also because they can. Though they are mostly in the city, occasionally                     they will be found in the desert fucking shit up too.

                      Scientists/Researchers – The scientists and researchers are all willing participants in BL’s work. They are the worshippers not in the immediate circle who                                            work on ways to implant Xibalba’s army into people safely as well as work on other projects that will help farther their goals. Researchers are those   
                              who are assisting the scientists and who do research and such to help them come up with ways to work Xibalba’s magic into their victims.

                              BOTS – One of the first things Better Living came up with were androids and robots. All are based off of predators, usually apex. The most common are                                                Spider bots, Cobra bots, and Hawk bots. Spider bots are small and are used to spy, Cobra bots are extremely venomous and are known for their hand                                          to hand combat, and Hawk bots are aerial combatants who are used to scout the desert for rebels. Though these are the most common, they are not                                            the only ones and there are a variety of different types. Stationed mostly in the city as well, due to the sand, they are usually the forces used when                                                destroying ghetto neighborhoods and such.

                                                  Drones and Workers – Where as Dracs are foot soldiers, the workers are just the masses. Most people in Battery have a job that consists of                                                                       some sort of mental or manual labor for BL. Most are also on emotion tampering drugs and so are sort of just blank until the drugs are                                                                (painfully) out of their system.

                                                  Draculoids – Draculoids are foot soldiers, they’re the lowest of the low. They’re also the hardest to kill, emotionally, because they are the                                                                           reanimated corpses of rebels killed during a fight and taken by BL ind.. Never remove their masks, because you are likely to see                                                                           someone you once knew. They are all partially trained in hand to hand and weapons as well as the skills that their living counterparts                                                                   had in life. It is not possible to return one to life permanently but it can happen for a few moments before they die. Draculoids, ‘Drac’                                                                   for short, are not very hard to defeat but they can be dangerous when many of them come together and they usually travel in big                                                                         groups of around ten. They follow orders well, except in cases of their living counterparts having been extremely rebellious. Dracs are                                                                 the weakest of BL’s fighters but not to be underestimated due to their hive minds and their willingness to sacrifice themselves for whatever their goal is.

 

 

 

 

 

And here is the Youngblood Hierarchy! there's obviously much more, but these are the people who are mentioned most often, i think!

 

 

Head: Pete

          Second: Andy (Teaches)(Actually does So Much Shit)

                              Bob (Teaches)

                             *Brian (In-home medic)(Teaches)(Admin)

                    Assistant: Joe (Civilian Daily Life + Supplies)

          Patrick (Little of everything, like Andy)

Mentor/Council: Beyonce

          Second: Maja

                    Beyonce’s Girls: Shakira (Special Ops Training)

                                             Jennifer (Construction)

                                             Rihanna (Destruction)

                                             Salt (Admin)

                                             Pepa (Admin)

                                             TLC (Vehicle + Transport)

Medical Officer: Snoop (Surgeon)

          Second: Greta (Post-Op care)

                              *William (Pre-Op care + Medical Technician) 

                    Nurses, etc.:  Haley (Field)

                                        Jeremy (In-home)

                                      *Brian (In-home) (Teaches)(Admin)

                                      *Bob Morris (Post-Op care)

 

Military Ops:

          Overt: Travie (cee Cee Lo)                                         Covert: Gabe (cee Beyonce)                                         General: Big Sean

                    Disashi (Artillery)                                                        Victoria (Artillery)                                                         *William (Insider)

                    Eric (Strategy)                                                             Alex (Poisons) Sisky (Insider)                                          Chislett (Insider)                                          

                    Matt (Recovery)                                                           Ryland (Recovery) Andy (Insider)                                    Carden (Insider) 

                                                                                                       Eliza (Insider)(Deceased)

 

Non-Military Ops:

          Dependent Supplies: Nate                                         Independent Supplies: Eminem                                     Technology: *William

                                          *Bob Morris                                                                                                                                         Sisky

                                                                                                                                                                                                     Andy

                                                                                                                                                                                                     Chislett

                                                                                                                                                                                                     Carden

 

 

 

and finally, some more info on patrick's PTSD and frank's DID!

 

NOTICE: THESE ARE NEVER TO BE PROPERLY NAMED IN-FIC

Patrick - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder with intense panic attacks 

triggers include: Tasting chocolate of any sort, trying to make him talk about what happened, dracs and vixens in large numbers and too much blood. 

When triggered: intense panic, flashbacks, crying and screaming, overheating, usually lose of leg function and it takes him a while to recover afterwards. 

  * Usually has a low simmer of anger and panic and triggers as well as random small things will send him over the edge and he will have an immediate attack. Can sometimes start with a feeling of anger and a numbing of his fingertips and toes.
  * Usually wants to be alone to calm down but will occasionally allow Pete and, later on, Bob and Brian, to be with him.



Frank - Dissociative Personality Disorder - Frank, Ghoul, and Fun Ghoul. Frank is dominant but Fun Ghoul tries to take over whenever possible, especially in extremely stressful situations. Shift to eventually Ghoul being dominant. All are aware of each other and Fun Ghoul is developed enough to the point that they can have vaguely solid conversations in Frank’s head. Fun Ghoul is merciless even towards the other Killjoys and is Frank’s survival instincts personified. Any traumatic event will usually garner a visit from Fun Ghoul. Frank hates him and relies on him as a crutch in equal measure but Fun Ghoul honestly thinks he is what is best for Frank - to the point being willing to lock Frank inside his own head to be the dominant personality. Ghoul is a mix of the two, but struggles with identity issues and if he is real or not. These are not resolved by the end of the fic, but Fun Ghoul does disappear when he feels his job has been done.

  * When switching, Frank’s eyes will go hazy for a few seconds and then turn a darker brown. Fun Ghoul has a much more rigid body language and harder voice.
  * Triggers: being choked or pinned, feeling helpless




	4. 1: Peterick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and now we get into the drabbles :)
> 
> For Dami, sick pete!

“You’re sick, Pete, for fuck’s sake,”

“I’m _not_ ,” Pete said, but his nose was stuffy enough and his throat scratchy enough that it came out as more _‘m mot_.

“You _are_ ,” Patrick bit back a smile and pushed Pete back into the bed, “Just lay _down_ , Pete,”

“I’ve got work,” Pete mumbled, and Patrick took a second to work out what _ghot vork_ meant.

“Andy and Joe are doing it,” He promised, “Just rest. Recover. Then you can get back to work.”

“But Gabe,”

“Knows you’re sick and isn’t expecting you anymore,” Patrick set on the side of the bed and brushed his hand over Pete’s sweaty face, smiling for real when Pete grabbed his wrist and held his hand to his forehead in relief, “Hot?”

“You’re hands are _icy_ , Pattycakes,” Pete whined, like he wasn’t leeching the cool from Patrick’s skin as he spoke.

“No, you’re just burning up,” Patrick carded his hand through Pete’s hair gently, untangling the few knots that hand managed to get into his short hair, “And you’re refusing to sleep.” “I’m _dying_ ,” Pete whined, finally going staying put on the sheets, “I’m dying and the whole world sucks. I’m executing Bill when I can move again.” “He didn’t mean to get you sick,” Patrick laughed, moving to set with his back against the headboard. Pete laid his head on his lap and Patrick set a slow rhythm of running his fingers through his hair while Pete breathed noisily and made complaining noises. Those eventually died down as Pete started to get sleepy, soothed by Patrick’s fingers and the pills Patrick had fed him to reduce the fever.

“Sing for me,” he mumbled, just loud enough for Patrick to hear him. His voice was a little slurred but Patrick knew what he wanted and gave in easily, humming softly as he thought about what to sing.

“Honey is for bees, silly bear,” He began and Pete started to laugh, shaking the bed a little with his weezy giggles.

“Am I a motorbaby now?” Pete asked, lifting his head to peer up at Patrick with laughing eyes, and Patrick found himself laughing in return.

“You said you wanted me to sing, this is the only lullabye I know!”

“You sing it to relax _children_ ,” “Pete, you’re like a child trapped in a grown up’s body.” “That’s not what you were saying last night,” Pete wiggled his eyebrows and Patrick pushed his face down gently, laughing again.

“Pete, you were throwing up in the toilet all of last night.” “...shut up and keep singing,” Pete huffed playfully, falling back to his original position and forcing Patrick’s hand back into his hair.

Patrick shook his head, still smiling, and started again - a little shaky because he was still laughing. “Besides, there’s jelly beans eve-ry-where. It’s not what it seems in the land of dreams; don’t worry your head, just go to sleep,”

“You think we could turn this into a rock opera?” Pete asked, but his voice was quiet again, just a thought he’d decided to share before he fell asleep, so Patrick ignored it.

“It doesn’t matter how you feel,” He rubbed at Pete’s neck, firm and careful, and felt him go lax with relief, “Life is just a Ferris wheel. It’s always up and down, don’t make a sound,”

Pete hummed along, off key and disappearing in certain places because his throat wouldn’t let him make the noise and Patrick closed his own eyes. He wouldn’t fall asleep, not like this, but it was the first quiet moment they’d had together in a long time and he was enjoying it.

“When you wake up, the world will come around...when you wake up, the world will come around...It’s just the sweet weather and the peacock feathers, in the morning it will - all be better. it’s not what it seems in the land of dreams; don’t worry your head, just go to sleep.”

Pete began to snore, noisy but soft and it was almost comforting. Patrick was glad he was sleeping now, properly, but he’d be able to tell if he like, stopped breathing or something.

“When you wake up, the world will come around,” he continued, softer, “When you wake up, the world will come around…”

He traced the edge of Pete’s jaw with feather-light fingertips, looking at his flushed face and wishing that the lyrics were true.

“Honey is for bees, silly bear...Besides, there’s jelly beans eve-ry-where...It’s not what it seems in the land of dreams; don’t worry your head, just go to sleep.” He smiled and then closed his eyes again and let his weight fall against the wall. Maybe he would try to get some sleep after all.


	5. 2: Sanzedrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also for Dami, this one is benzedrine/sandman. 
> 
>  
> 
> pretty much expect a lot of these to be happier au of Firefight lmao

“This is sickening,” Benzedrine grumbled, but he hadn’t moved since Sandman had found him hidden within the burnt out forest in Patrick’s head and settled down next to him. 

“Hush,” Sandman patted at Benzedrine’s head with one elongated hand. It felt….weird. Being like this again. He’d spent the last two-odd decades within Pete’s form, and he rarely left it now, but it hadn’t felt right to enter a place as sacred to Benzedrine as his burned down paradise as a human and had decided that this was what he wanted to look like, for now.

“They would call you soft,” Benzedrine continued, his voice the same deep, pleased rumble Sandman remembered only hearing on sunny, sunny days when the two of them sunbathed in the meadow and Benzedrine was comfortable enough, felt safe enough, to sleep.

“I am,” Sandman slipped his fingers through Benzedrine’s fur until the very tips of his nails were in contact with the skin beneath and then he gently raked down, scratched at the spot he remembered always itching. Benzedrine tilted into the touch and Sandman had to suppress the way his chest warmed and swelled. He’d never thought he could have this again. That they could have this again.

And outside, when he was within Pete and Benzedrine within Patrick, they couldn’t. But here, alone while their humans slept, hidden in darkness just lit by forever-dying embers, they could. They could, and Sandman would make sure they did.

“Weak,” Benzedrine responded, but he was nearly on his side now, relaxed and sleep-warm.

“For you,” Sandman agreed, “I’ve always been my weakest, my lovely one.”

“Sweet talker,” Benzedrine shoved at him, nearly knocking him over, but Sandman could feel the contented pleasure nearly radiating off of him so he didn’t stop what he was doing. 

“You’re right, it’s sickening,” Sandman couldn’t help but smile, resting his head on Benzedrine’s. Benzedrine barely even shifted, just enough that they were both comfortable. 

Sandman got a half-awake hum in response, Benzedrine slowly drifting back to rest, He didn’t try to keep him awake. 

He watched, instead.

Benzedrine was lax and stretched, the night sky Sandman missed so much still reflected within his fur, stars twinkling. He found himself touching them, trying to see if they would hurt. They didn’t, but it didn’t stop him from tracing the stars, scratching gently into Benzedrine’s skin the constellations Pete had learned as a child.

The first few weeks had been difficult, thinking back. The distrust, the question of who had betrayed who, trying to decide if he could put his lovely one and Benzedrine together, understand that he was different now - could never be the same as he’d been before his time in the bracelet.

The bracelet he still wore, still couldn’t give up. Not only had Sandman been unsure, but Benzedrine had retreated far enough into himself that Sandman had had to scream and yell until he’d finally come out. Sandman wasn’t sure if he’d ever forgive himself, even if Benzedrine had forgiven him, but he’d made it his mission to end Xibalba himself now. 

But that was then, and this was now. This was enough.


	6. 3: Assorted Mini Ficlets (Peterick and Sandzedrine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all for dami!!!! these i think were all skype fics back when i used SKYPE jesus dami what were we DOING

Sandman had a lot of things he enjoyed doing. He enjoyed basking in sunlight, or moonlight. He enjoyed walking through the forest, listening for wildlife or humans. He enjoyed breathing in the sweet scent of nature and tasting berries or the fresh water of spring.

Above all of that, though, he'd enjoyed running.

He'd enjoyed racing against the wind, fighting against the physics of mother Earth's creations. He'd enjoyed the birds that had tried to fly at his side, the deer that had galloped behind him, the wolves that had tried to run as his pack. He'd enjoyed the feeling of freedom that running gave him. Freedom, truthfully, was what Sandman enjoyed the most. OF everything he'd suffered, of everything he'd sacrificed - it had all been in the name of his freedom, and he couldn't regret any of it.

Sometimes he missed being able to suddenly break into a dead sprint just to feel it in his legs, just to see if he could. Sometimes the urge to just - just dash was almost overwhelming, even despite the danger he knew it would present. Sometimes, he thought it was worth it.

But the rest of the time - usually when he was with Benzedrine, when they were sitting together under their tree and Sandman was only half paying attention to the scholar and the warrior because he couldn't pull his focus away from the way the sunlight disappeared into the galaxy of Benzedrine's fur - he thought he could give up running and so much more just to keep _this_ instead. If he could only stay at Benzedrine's side, watch the way he slept at Sandman's side as if he knew he was safe with him, watch the way his face relaxed into peace and his fur lay flat against his back as he rested, he wouldn't mind losing whatever was needed. 

He loved running and he would freely admit it - as he could do anything freely. But, compared to running, feeling the heat of Benzedrine against his own bare side, being able to rest his head atop Benzedrine's or even shove it under Benzedrine's jaw and sleep in total certainty that he was just as safe under Benzedrine's watchful and protective gaze was a far, far more freeing feeling. 

Truthfully, if he thought about it, he'd have given up everything to stay with Benzedrine.

In the end, Sandman thought as he stared into the sky, the acid taste of agony on his tongue and the pain of a world without Benzedrine in it thrumming through every inch of his being; In the end, he did.

\---

There weren’t a lot of things Benzedrine liked about the world he lived in now. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that he missed the forests of old, when trees and grass and flowers and animals were abundant and life was everywhere he touched. It had probably been one of the most jarring things, to realize that he probably wouldn’t see a lush forest ever again. 

Still, there were a few things he did like. He liked living underground. It felt like he was hidden from Mother Earth’s eyes, like he wasn’t under her skies and so he wasn’t under her watch. He liked that he wasn’t with Xibalba, probably more than anything else. He liked that he had miles and miles of room to move and no one to stop him. No one to give him orders, tell him he had to go back to Xibalba. No one could hurt him, not here.

And there was something else he liked.

Back, before, he and Sandman hadn’t been built to properly touch. He’d been almost twice Sandman’s size, graceful and sleek in his own right but large and hunkering compared to Sandman’s lithe frame. And Sandman had been so fragile, so small. Benzedrine had always been just a little afraid that his touch would break him. Benzedrine had always been delicate in his movements, refined in his touch even when he was on a rampage, but Sandman had always made him feel a clumsy giant, a crude parody of himself. Mother Earth had never mean for their union to be and so she had no created them to fit each other as puzzle pieces would fit.

But, with humans, it seemed that she had learned from her mistakes. It was as if Mother Earth had considered every possibility and had done her best to create the body to fulfill whatever union a human so chose. Patrick’s arms weren’t _long_ , but they were strong. Benzedrine could hold Sandman’s human with ease, had nimble fingers with which to tangle in hair or scratch at Sandman’s scalp until he was practically a melted pile of warmth against Sandman’s side. Whether he was pinning Sandman to a wall or Sandman was holding him against the sheets of the bed; whether he was folding himself along Sandman’s back, tucking his knees under Sandman’s until they were closer than Benzedrine had ever been able to be with him before or Sandman had pulled him against his human’s chest and wrapped his arms - which _were_ long, damn him - around Benzedrine’s body. He liked listening to Sandman’s heartbeat, much slower than Pete’s or Patrick’s. 

He liked that they fit together, he and Sandman. It made it a lot easier to pretend that they weren’t who they were; that Benzedrine was just some human; that Sandman was just some _guy_ ; that Xibalba wasn’t real, wasn’t out for Benzedrine’s blood, didn’t have a possessive streak a mile wide and didn’t want to consume Benzedrine all over again. 

It made it easier to pretend that Sandman hadn’t betrayed him to Xibalba, to pretend that he still loved Benzedrine. 

And if Benzedrine sometimes forgot that Sandman didn’t love him anymore, if he let himself fall into the fantasy that it was _him_ that Sandman wanted to hold tight to his body, that it was _him_ that Sandman wanted to protect from anything and everything, well who could really blame him?

They fit together like puzzle pieces, now. 

\-----

Sandman didn't often wake up in the middle of the night. He either took over for Pete upon Pete falling asleep, or slept through the night if they were both tired, but he didn't often wake up himself without having negotiated it with Pete first. So, when he thought about it, he didn't know why he was awake. 

Patrick was pressed to his chest, wrapped tight in Sandman's arms where Pete had been clinging to him in his sleep, face hidden into the sleep-warm skin of Sandman's throat and he found himself tightening his arms. The hand that had been stroking up and down his spine stopped and, frozen as it was, Sandman realized that the fingers had barely been brushing his skin in a way that only Benzedrine touched him and that the sleep-warm skin under Patrick's face was wet.

"Benzedrine?"

"Don't," Benzedrine hissed, and his voice was angry but it shook and broke in a way that made Sandman intensely uncomfortable. He wanted to say that it was because it was Patrick's voice, and that he couldn't stand Patrick being upset even if it was just his body, but he knew it was because it was Benzedrine and he was supposed to be the proud, angry beast trapped inside a body too small for his rage - he wasn't supposed to, to cry. He wasn't supposed to sound so vulnerable and fragile. It made Sandman want to fight something, want to make it better and something inside of him twisted and curled.

Instead of doing any of that, he moved a hand to twine into Benzedrine's hair and pressed him closer to Sandman's throat. It almost felt as if he was baring his neck, offering it to Benzedrine, but he didn't think Benzedrine was even thinking about that. Benzedrine just started to cry in earnest and it _broke his heart_.

"Stop," Sandman started to sit up, started to pull away, but Benzedrine dug his fingers into his back, grabbed him and didn't let him pull away.

"Don't, just fucking listen to me for once in your fucking life ,"

"I can't just lay here while you're -" hurting, he wanted to say, maybe. in pain, upset, crying. 

"While I'm what!? Why do you care?" Benzedrine demanded, still not moving his face from Sandman's shoulder, "Just - fuck, why are you even awake!?"

He shoved away from Sandman all at once, violently, turned onto his side with his back to Sandman and buried his face in his arms so Sandman couldn't look at him, "Just go back to sleep."

I care, Sandman wanted to yell, I care that you're crying, but he couldn't answer why and he knew that if he tried, it would only lead to things he...he didn't want to think about.

"Benzedrine,"

"Don't call me that," Benzedrine snapped, "Don't call me that right now, that isn't my name, " 

"Okay," Sandman gave in, finally sitting up and reaching out to touch his shoulder gently, hand careful, "Okay, that's fine. I won't. Just...just, fuck, come here. Let me hold you, for fuck's sake."

And if he had to be a little forceful in pulling Benzedrine back to how they'd been laying before, Benzedrine could have stopped him at any time if he'd seriously not wanted to be held. 

But he did, or at least Sandman thought he did, because Benzedrine didn't attack him when he wrapped him up in his arms and tangled his hand back in the red hair he loved so much. He kissed Benzedrine's forehead, not knowing what else to do, but it only increased the muffled sniffling and hitched sobs escaping against his shoulder so he tried something else.

"What happened?"

"I don't," Benzedrine grumbled after a few minutes of silence, long enough that Sandman had given up on an answer and had resorted to rubbing along Benzedrine's side as a comfort, "I was just - thinking, and then I started with these fucking tears and they won't stop, this is ridiculous, how do these humans do anything when their bodies are using up all the water they have?"

"It just means you're upset, you idiot," Sandman shook his head. Benzedrine had taken to being human as well as could be asked, Sandman had to suppose, and he'd figured it all out a lot faster than Sandman had. Sometimes, Benzedrine made it easy to forget that he hadn't always been hidden away in Patrick's head, festering like a wound until it was time for infection to strike. Patrick didn't often cry hard enough to warrant more than a few tears, but Sandman could recall quite a few nervous breakdowns that had ended with Pete soaked through his own tears and this was beginning to remind him uncomfortably of someone having such a breakdown.

"It just means you need to calm down. Stop thinking about whatever it is you're thinking about,"

"Impossible," Benzedrine said, almost like it had slipped before he could stop it.

"You have to do it," Sandman shrugged, "You can't stop, otherwise."

"How can I stop thinking about you when you've got me wrapped up in your big, stupid, human arms!?" Benzedrine demanded and tried to yank away from him again, but Sandman was ready and just hugged him tighter, pressed his face closer until Benzedrine finally gave in. Sandman was almost thankful for the distraction. Pressed so close to his chest, he almost thought that Benzedrine would have heard or felt the way Pete's heart skipped a beat. 

"I haven't said anything terrible to you in days, why am I making you cry?"

"Shut up," Benzedrine shook his head, "Shut up, shut up, shut up,"

"Okay! Okay, okay," Sandman, unsure of what else to do, used his grip in Benzedrine's hair to finally tip his head up so he could kiss him.

It wasn't deep, not like the hot kisses they usually shared, nothing like the sweet touches he and Patrick shared. It wasn't sweet, exactly, but it wasn't bitter either. Just...a kiss. Warm. Wet from Benzedrine's tears. Benzedrine didn't quite kiss back, but he was used to this motion, Sandman knew, used to this being a precursor to more physical intimacy, intimacy that he and Sandman often used to work out aggression. He didn't try to push for that, though, and Sandman found himself not minding. He found that he just wanted to hold him, just anted to make sure he wasn't crying in the middle of the fucking night while Sandman slept on. 

When he finally stopped kissing him, the tears seemed to have stopped and Benzedrine's eyes had closed. When they opened, they were barely open enough for Sandman to make out dilated pupils, bloodshot eyes, but no more tears. 

"What...?"

"Distraction," Sandman explained, kissing him again - a light peck, once more and then again and the again until Benzedrine was responding, quick and soft and much, much different than anything they'd ever done before.

"Distraction," Benzedrine laughed when they'd finally stopped. It was bitter, not a nice laugh, but Sandman kind of liked it anyway because it was so Benzedrine. 

"I," Sandman wanted to say, wanted to say so much.

Instead, he just kissed him once more and then hugged him close again and offer as much comfort as he could.

When Sandman next woke, Patrick was awake and smiling, complaining of aching eyes but none the wiser about what had happened.

Sandman just held his hand and squeezed his fingers and hoped that Benzedrine, hiding from him inside Patrick, knew that it wasn't just Patrick that Sandman greeted with a light kiss.

\---

Sandman was greedy. He knew it, Pete knew it, Patrick knew it. Benzedrine knew it.

"I want both," he wanted to say when Pete threw Patrick in Benzedrine's face, "I want Patrick," He shouted when he and Benzedrine were fighting, "I want Benzedrine," he wanted to admit when Patrick asked.

He was greedy. He wanted Pete, and Patrick, and Benzedrine. He wanted his memories, but he didn't because he knew having them back meant an end to what little he and Benzedrine had built together. He wanted to stay with Pete, but he wanted his own body almost as much. He wanted to leave and never come back to the fucking Youngbloods and the fucking desert people and whatever the fuck Xibalba was - but he knew he couldn't. There was so much that he wanted, that he couldn't have.

Benzedrine hummed, pulling his fist free from the Drac they'd hunted down and flicking the blood off of his fingers with little care. He looked happy enough and Sandman took the chance, pressed his chest against Benzedrine' back, wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed his face to Benzedrine's shoulder. It was more physical contact than Benzedrine had been allowing since he and Patrick had had the fight leading to Patrick's broken fingers but Benzedrine didn't shove him away either and Sandman let him think it was the bloodlust and not Sandman's own desires to touch him.

"Done for the night, sweets?"

"Yes," Sandman decided. He hadn't been gaining nearly as much enjoyment out of the kills as Benzedrine had and, really, he'd never killed because it was fun like Benzedrine thought it was. The body below him sickened him in a distant way. He'd rather have continued watching it's pattern but Benzedrine had grown bored. 

"Then get off and we can leave," Benzedrine touched Sandman's hands where they were locked at his hips, gentle but a deadly warning underneath. Stop touching me or lose your hands.

"Hold on," Sandman grunted, squeezing just a little tighter, "Just..."

"Sandman," Benzedrine sighed, sounding playful, "Would you like to lose fingers?"

Sandman groaned, pushed away from him and stepped back, "What did Patrick say to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Benzedrine wiped the blood off as best he could on the pants he'd put on before they'd left, "If we don't return soon, Pete's pet will have a heart attack."

He turned to leave and Sandman acted before thinking, reaching out to snatch one wrist in a tight grip. Benzedrine, razor fast, struck out with his other fist and Sandman let it glance off his left cheek so he could grab it and shove Benzedrine against the nearest alley wall, pinning him in place.

"We're playing rough now, sweetheart?" Benzedrine giggled, but his eyes were murderous, his grin furious. He tried to shove back, step away from the wall, but Sandman had the upper hand and didn't give an inch, knowing Benzedrine would take the mile. 

"Just tell me what he said to you, for fuck's sake!" Sandman snapped, "You've barely spoken to me for days now! You don't let me touch you, you aren't talking to anyone except Patrick and you're even more prickly than usual when I do deign to get your attention! He won't say what happened, so just fucking tell me so I can _fix it_!" 

"Fix it?" Benzedrine laughed and it was painful, grating against his ears and not happy in the least, "All Patrick did was remind me exactly what you used to be to me, what you will never be to me again, and helped me remember exactly what I'm going to do to you when you're finally," and he paused, laughing again like he was making a joke, "_man_ enough to face what you did!"

He tried to push him off again and, failing that, went totally loose, relaxing against the wall and tilting his head back to expose his throat, "Is this what you want? Patrick not being rough enough for you?"

"Shut the fuck up," Sandman resisted the urge to slap him, "This isn't about sex, you psychopath, this is about -"

"_What_ is it about, my sweet one?" Benzedrine lost the grin, snarled the endearment as if it was poison. It made something in Sandman suddenly ache, terrible and agonizing, something ramming so hard against the door in his and Pete's shared space that the door nearly bent under the brunt of it. His grip loosened and he was shoved back, hard enough that he fell, tripped over the bloody body of the Drac they'd killed. 

"What? Are you gonna tell me that you miss me? What, that you don't like that I'm ignoring you? Oh, poor Sandman - got the perfect human, got his favorite pet to fall in love with him, got the old flame back and panting over him, fulfilling every fucking desire he and his stupid human group asks of him, but - oh no - his boytoy fucked up and hurt someone's feelings and now poor Sandman doesn't get everything that he wanted," Benzedrine hurled the hat he'd been wearing and it barely hurt hitting Sandman's chest but the point behind it still stood, "Don't pretend that we're anything other than what we are, Sandman." 

"And what's that?" Sandman stared up at him, feeling his stomach twist, his heart throbbing, his throat dry. He wanted to be angry, wanted to yell back, but all he could see was that Benzedrine had started crying at some point - something he could rarely control when he got emotional and Sandman hated seeing it.

"_Nothing_," Benzedrine spat at him, "We're nothing and that's all we're going to be until you open that door and we both know that that isn't going to happen. So just stop and let me -"

"Let you?" Sandman stood up, clutching the hat tight in his hands, "Let you what, Benzedrine?" 

Benzedrine scrubbed at his face, turned his back to Sandman and started walking away.

"You want me to what!?" Sandman found himself shouting back, "Let you go!? You have to let go first, asshole! So why don't you just kill me, if we're so nothing, huh!? Why don't you do any of the things you've been threatening me with since you showed up!?" 

Benzedrine, utilizing the humanity that he'd been living with for years now, shot him the bird and disappeared without looking back.

\---

"Oh fuck," Patrick breathed out slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight in front of them. Benzedrine had scoffed when Pete had told them where he was taking them, but Patrick couldn't be bothered to tease him about the dumbstruck feeling ricocheting between them - it was just that...there was so much blue, more blue than he'd ever seen before, let alone the water. There was just so much, more than Patrick could even comprehend. It stretched out from the sandy beach they'd found themselves at all the way out to where he couldn't even see - just miles and miles of gently moving blues and greens, glittering under the glare of the sun.

"It's beautiful..." He managed, reaching out without looking. Pete took his head, squeezed it between his own, and said something that Patrick could only assume was agreement. 

I haven't seen this sight in...a long time, Benzedrine mumbled, sounding as if he barely even knew he was talking. He sounded pained and soon turned away, went to hide in his forest, while Patrick continued to focus. He reached down, laughing when he pulled a bright, pale shell out of the sand, cracked in a few places but beautiful nonetheless. "So this is a beach."

"You read about them a lot," Pete shrugged, "I figured you'd want to see it."

"I did," Patrick turned to look at him finally, just as dumbstruck by Pete's blinding grin as he was the view of the sea, "I love it, Pete."

"I knew you would," Pete boasted, but he still leaned over to kiss him and squeeze his hand again, "We can't stay long, Poison was hard enough to convince to let us stay for a little bit. But, while we're here, I thought we could collect a few shells, maybe bring some back to show the next batch of kids," 

"Sounds good to me," Patrick hesitated before he moved to submerge his bare feet in the water the same way that Pete had and then had to bite back a loud yelp of shock, "It's freezing!"

Pete laughed again, louder, and yanked him until he was a little more than ankle deep, unable to jump back out quite as quickly, "Just give it a second and you'll get used to it!"

"Pete," Patrick grabbed him with his other hand, held on tight, suddenly unable to get the idea of going too far, not being able to touch or see the bottom sands under him, "Not any farther out, okay?"

"Hey," Pete turned to him and wrapped him up tighter, hugged him until he wasn't feeling quite so panicky, "Hey, nothing's gonna happen to you," Pete promised, lifting his hands to press a kiss to his knuckles, bruised from a clap with a Drac on their way to make their drop, "I promise. JUst close your eyes and enjoy."

So Patrick closed his eyes, breathed in the salty air, the feeling of freedom, of being outside of any BL influence, immersed in the one thing that they had not been able to control, and enjoyed.

\---

“He said it would help,” Sandman said firmly, gripping Benzedrine’s hands tighter and pulling him closer so he would stop struggling so much. As he expected, Benzedrine relaxed just a little when their bodies were pressed together, even if the stubborn expression on his face didn’t change.

“This is _stupid_ , my sweets. I’m not _actually_ human, as much as I look like one right now,” “Just,” Sandman pulled his arms so they were around his shoulders, freeing his own arms to wrap around Benzedrine’s waist and press his palms against his hip and back, “Relax, follow the music.”

“How do you even know how to do this?” “Jay-Z taught Pete,” Sandman shrugged, picking Benzedrine’s feet wider so that he was positioned correctly and then slowly, carefully, beginning to sway to the music.

Benzedrine grudgingly moved with him, too tensely to describe as _swaying_ , but his feet were moving, just a little, so Sandman didn’t complain.

“How is this supposed to help Patrick’s stupid panic attacks?” Sandman sighed, yanking Benzedrine closer so he could hook his chin over his shoulder. It had the added benefit of letting Sandman tighten his grip without having to worry about Benzedrine’s reactions. For all he knew, this was all part of the dance. 

“First of all,” Sandman slowly started to spin them, “You can blame Patrick all you’d like, but I know what he looks like when he’s panicking and that wasn’t it.”

“What are you implying?” Benzedrine pressed cold lips to Sandman’s neck, his body loosening as he focused more on trying to distract Sandman than on where his feet were going.

“That maybe Patrick isn’t the one who needs to dance.” “ _Dancing,_ ” Benzedrine scoffed, “Who the fuck told your medic that _dancing_ would calm anyone down?” 

“I dunno,” Sandman shrugged, breathing in the familiar scent of Patrick, the familiar scent of Benzedrine, of both of them. “It helps, though, doesn’t it?” “How the hell should I know?” Benzedrine snipped, “I’m perfectly calm at all times.” “Of course you are,” Sandman couldn’t help but smile, still rocking them slowly. They weren’t moving much, just a careful four step in a slow circle, something Benzedrine could follow easily without worry, something Sandman didn’t have to think about too hard. The music was soft, something Patrick had picked out a few days ago when Sandman had brought the idea up. It was nice.

“ _How_ is this supposed to calm anyone down, again?” Benzedrine sighed, sounding bored, but Sandman just shrugged again.

“Dunno,” He hesitated, “I like it, though.”

Benzedrine paused, missed the next step and hurried to find the pace again, the arms around Sandman’s shoulders tensing but not letting go.

“Yeah, well…” Benzedrine sighed and went loose, finally relaxed his body and let Sandman lead them into a slightly bigger circle, still slow and careful and intimate, “You always were a sap.”

“Hm,” Sandman hid a smile in Benzedrine’s shoulder.

They didn’t say anything else, and they didn’t stop dancing for a long time, until long after the song had ended and they were surrounded by nothing but each other and silence. 


	7. 4. FunPoison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for nat i think! this was a Long While Ago
> 
> alt title: 5 times funpoison didnt pda + 1 time they did

1.

Gerard held his hands tightly to his sides, but he couldn’t help but hover over Ray’s shoulder, watching with concern as Ray daftly pulled the stitches together tightly and then tied them off.

Frank hadn’t flinched even once, staring off into space while Ray closed up the gash he’d come home with, but he blinked back into the room when Ray patted his knee and stood up.

“Okay, Ghoul, you’re all set,” 

“Thanks, Ray,” Frank flashed him a quick smile but it wasn’t until Ray had left the room that Gerard swooped in, fell into Frank’s open arms and sighed into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t worry about it,” Frank shrugged and that was that while they set together in the silence, using each other as support.

2.

Frank was _impatient_.

“Ha, yeah,” He faked a laugh, continuing to usher Mikey towards the door, “Hilarious.”

“Ugh, gross,” Mikey wrinkled his nose, but let himself be pushed out of the door, “It’s, like, noon, Frankie. I can’t believe you two.”

“I’m sorry, did I stick my nose into your sex life?” Frank lifted a finger when Mikey went to reply and grabbed the door, “The answer is no.” “ _Gross_ ,” Mikey repeated with more emphasis, but he still cracked a smile just before Frank slammed the door in his face. 

He turned, back to the door, and smirked at Gerard, who watched him from their usual bed with a smug look on his face.

“Shut the fuck your face and take your pants off,” He grumbled and only flushed a little when Gerard laughed and did as told.

3.

They were apart before the door had even fully opened, though there was no hiding what they’d been doing from Pete’s eyes.

“Am I...interrupting?”

“No,” Poison grunted, wiping his eyes quickly with the heel of his palm, “What did you need?” “Oh, um,” Pete motioned over his shoulder, “Everyone’s in the war room, I just came to find you.”

“I’m coming,” Poison stepped towards the door, following Pete’s retreating back. He glanced over his shoulder before he left the room and Frank smiled, reassuring. 

Poison took a deep breath, cursed Pete for walking in right when he’d finally started to feel a little better, and walked out.

4.

“Seriously, it’s okay,” Patrick laughed, “It was just a small crash.”

“I should have been paying attention,” Ghoul crossed his arms and Gerard knew he was feeling guilty. 

“Benzedrine distracted you,” Patrick squeezed his shoulder before he stood up from the table, “Besides, what’s life without a few crashes, right?” “I guess…” But Ghoul was still frowning and Gerard wished that they were alone, that he could wrap Ghoul in a hug, reassure him. He settled for placing his hand on the small of Ghoul’s back, a light press, just so he’d know that Gerard was there if he was needed.

He saw Ghoul’s shoulders relax, just a little, and felt like he’d been heard even without the words.

5.

Ghoul repressed the urge to grab Poison’s hand, to slide their fingers together and until they were tangled and no one could quite figure out where one of them ended and the other began, but Bob was _right there_ and there was no way in hell he was going to let Bob see him being _cute_ with Poison. 

Still, he couldn’t help but hook their pinkies together - just a moment - when Bob was distracted by something Brian said. He saw Poison’s barely bit-back smile and had to fight off one of his own. By the time Bob turned back to them, they weren’t touching again but the warmth of Poison’s skin still tingled down Ghoul’s hand if he focused.

1

Ghoul didn’t _care_ , he did not _care a single bit_. It had been _two weeks_ since he’d last seen Gerard, _two weeks_ that he’d been stuck in the city while Gerard and Mikey had been in the desert with Andy. _Two weeks_ of near radio silence, two weeks without half his crew.

The door had barely opened into the war room before he was moving forward, meeting Poison half way in a tight, desperate hug. He reached up, dug his fingers into Gerard’s hair and dragged him down into an opened mouth kiss, barely even bothering to register that the war room had been _occupied_ with at least ten other people. It wasn’t until someone threw _something_ at them that they broke apart and Ghoul realized he was panting. 

“I warned you,” Mikey said from the doorway, but Gerard was already tugging Ghoul out of the room, passing by Andy with a muttered _Be back later,_ and Ghoul was high fiving Mikey as he was dragged by. He’d talk to him later, check in and catch up.

For now, he and Gerard had some catching up of their own to do.


	8. 5. FunPoison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angst for nat i think! 
> 
> really if its peterick i assume i wrote it for dami and if its funpoison i assume i wrote it for nat asdfjkl

“Guys,” Gerard threw his hands out, stopping Ray and Mikey from getting any closer, “Seriously, I got this, okay? Just...clean up the bodies, get them out of here. Milkshakes?”

“Yeah,” Mikey swallowed, his eyes carefully not on Frank, “Milkshakes, Gee.”

“Just, uh,” Ray squeezed Gerard’s shoulder, “Call us if things don’t chill.” “I will,” Gerard lied and Ray and Mikey left, dragged the bodies of the Drac to the Trans Am and disappeared within minutes.

Against the wall, zap still held in white knuckled hands, chest heaving, Frank watched it all with wide, glazed eyes.

“Frank?” Gerard said gently, when he was sure Mikey and Ray were gone and the zap swung to point at him, “Frank, baby, can you hear me?”

“He can’t kill me,” Frank shook his head, “Fun Ghoul said he wouldn’t ever touch us again, he’s supposed to be _dead_ ,”

“Shh, shh,” Gerard hushed, trying to stop him from getting too worked up, “Frankie, Frankie, he _is_ dead,”

One hand, slow and limp, went to Ghoul’s throat, where bruises were already forming. One Drac, just _one Drac_ , had gotten through Mikey’s defenses. Gerard wanted to curse, he should have _known_.

“He’s _back_ ,” Frank shook his head and Gerard had just a moment of anger, _why hadn’t Fun Ghoul taken over, where **was** he_?

“He isn’t, I promise,” Gerard took a careful step forward and suddenly both hands were back on the zap and it was pointed at him, shaking so hard that Gerard doubted he’d even be able to aim properly, as close as they were. “Hey, it’s me, Frankie. You know me.”

“Gee?” Frank shuddered, back pressed against the wall of the small ghast station they’d been fighting next time, “Where’s Greaser?”

“We killed him,” Gerard decided to say, “He’s dead this time, Frankie. I got him myself, and you trust me don’t you?”

“Y-you’re sure?” Frank lowered the zap just a little, “You’re _sure_?” “I”m _positive_ , Frankie,” Gerard promised, “Can you answer something for me, baby?” “What?” Frank sniffed and Gerard’s heart broke, seeing the tears forming in his eyes. 

“Where’s Fun Ghoul?” Gerard took another slow step forward and then another when the zap didn’t immediately lift back to him.

“He,” Frank sniffed again, his throat working a few times before he could continue, “He’s mad at me, he doesn’t want to help me, anymore.”

“Oh, baby,” Gerard finally made it to him and, careful, _careful_ , reached out and grabbed the muzzle of the zap, pushed it so it pointed at the sands and then took it from Frank’s limp grip, “It’s okay, don’t cry,” “I’m sorry,” Frank shook his head and covered his face, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” “Hey, hey,” Gerard tossed the zap to the side and wrapped his arms around Frank’s shoulders, hugged him and rubbed his back, buried a hand in his hair when he started to cry earnestly into his shoulder, “You’re okay, you’re okay,”

“Ghoul got scared,” Frank hiccuped, “He didn’t want to fight Greaser again but Fun Ghoul _wouldn’t_ help and I said I’d do it but -” Gerard hushed him again, pressed him even closer and kissed the side of his head, “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. It’s over now,”

Frank sobbed once, twice more before he went tense and then pushed away quickly, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand angry.

“Fun Ghoul,” Gerard frowned and Fun Ghoul shot him a glare.

“Shut up, Gerard,” 

“Why was Frank out in the middle of a firefight?” “Because they wouldn’t let me out _before_ the firefight,” Fun Ghoul snapped, bending down to grab his zap and put it back in its holster, “And I’m sick of them treating me like I’m just their last stand defense. If Ghoul couldn’t handle getting fucking choked, he shouldn’t have tried to fight in the first place.”

“But _Frank_?” Gerard sighed, reaching back out and pulling Fun Ghoul into another hug. He struggled, but not really, the same way he always pretended to put up a struggle when Gerard showed him affection and he wanted to pretend he didn’t it.

“I wouldn’t have let him get _really_ hurt,” Fun Ghoul huffed, finally settling into the hug, “I got the Drac off, didn’t I?” Gerard could only shrug and hold him. He wasn’t in charge of the relationship between Frank’s personalities, he couldn’t talk to Ghoul and Frank about treating Fun Ghoul better in the same way he couldn’t get angry at Fun Ghoul for forcing Frank to fight. It was all up to the three of them to figure that out. All he could do was hold him close, wipe the tears that Fun Ghoul refused to admit were his, and hope it went better the next time.


	9. 6. FunPoison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for nat, a study in personality

When Frank had first told Gerard about the voices in his head, Gerard could admit that he was maybe...not sure how to react. On one hand, he was guilty as hell - because Frank had only been in the situations that had made his head worse because Gerard had been too much of a coward to stick to his promises. On the other, he was worried about one thing above most of his other worries.

"Do any of them not like me?" He asked, once the more serious issues had been hashed out and they were back to lying together, his lips pressed to Frank's forehead, "Also, should I call you by different names? What names do they prefer? Are pronouns different?"

Frank laughed, sounding strikingly relieved. "No, none of them dislike you. Frank, me," he swallowed, "He loves you. Ghoul, too. He, um, he's kind of the one who's out most. I only come out when it's safe. Like here, with you. Or when Ghoul and Fun Ghoul are fighting, but that doesn't happen often."

"And Fun Ghoul?"

"He...likes you," Frank kissed Gerard's jaw, "He does, I promise. It's just hard for him to show he cares. I told you, he's kind of like my survival instincts, and how I feel for you...well, let's just say, we all know what'll happen to me if something happens to you."

"Don't say that," Gerard frowned, pulling him closer, "It's not something to..."

"Hey," Frank laughed, sounding happy and warm, "See? That's why he cares about you. Because you care about us, for real. He hasn't had that since...since B- you know."

"I know," Gerard nodded, because he would never force Frank into saying his name.

"A-anyway, um...No, there are no pronoun changes. And names don't matter. Ghoul will go by either name, but Fun Ghoul isn't terribly fond of you calling him by my name. He...doesn't like me much."

"What?" Gerard frowned, "Bullshit, why wouldn't he like you?"

"I'm the weak one," Frank shrugged and Gerard suddenly wanted to have Words with Fun Ghoul, "But the point is, he doesn't...mind, when it's you. If you call him Frank."

Gerard nodded and pressed another kiss to Frank's face, between his eyes this time, and they went to sleep soon after, even with all the thoughts circling Gerard's head.

-

Once he knew what to look for, it was easy to see. Gerard had vastly different relationships with all three versions of his boyfriend - which finally explained a Lot of what Gerard had previously thought was just Frank's moodiness or occasional relapse into loner mentalities.

With Frank, Gerard and he were almost sanguine in their level of cuteness. Frank liked pet names and physical affection, liked when Gerard gave him attention and liked talking to Mikey and Ray, loved laying in the dark of their freezer and breathing together. And Gerard fucking loved Frank. Frank was right up Gerard's alley, really - because Gerard liked to spoil him and tell him how much he meant to him. He liked sketching Frank when he had the time and materials, liked showing him small this-and-that's he'd found around and teasing cute sounds from him in the privacy of their freezer. Frank, Gerard learned quickly, was soft, playful, the kind of person who smiled even when it was storming acid and Gerard was half scared that it was melt through the diner ceiling. Frank, though, was also sensitive and easily hurt, and Gerard was careful of his words when Frank was fronting, careful not to lose his cool less Frank retreat into himself. Gerard had yelled at him once, when he'd been having a bad day and Frank had done some small, dumb thing that had set him off. A month of stony silences from Fun Ghoul and soft 'he doesn't really want to come out, if that's okay's from Ghoul had taught Gerard his lesson and he never yelled at Frank again.

-

Ghoul, Gerard learned, was...not quite as bitter as Fun Ghoul but no where near as sweet as Frank. Ghoul liked car rides, liked going for drives into the desert and then star gazing quietly while they laid on the hood. He liked occasionally holding Gerard's hand, but was slow and careful about it, like he thought Gerard was going to yank his hand away and yell at him or suddenly lash out at him when he wasn't paying attention. Ghoul made Gerard's heart hurt, but he loved him. Gerard loved him so much, more than Gerard could put into words. Ghoul was a crewmate, someone who was steady and good at what he did, knew what to say and what Gerard needed to hear - whether he wanted to or not. Ghoul was fierce and fiery, had a temper and a mouth to match, and was willing to go to bat for his crew, and his loyalty. But Ghoul also was the least likely of the three to react with negativity to any of his crew. Ghoul was self destructive in a way that Gerard was careful to keep an eye on, quick to take the blame and even quicker to take the punishment, no matter how severe. He and Mikey made a great team, but there was no contest on who came home with the worst injuries after every mission and Gerard had long grown used to the tradition of kissing each ache and pain until Ghoul could relax, could talk to him in quiet murmurs about what was going through his head, how hard it was knowing he just barely existed because the two original personalities weren't compatible enough to get on.

-

But however rocky Gerard's relationship with Ghoul could occasionally be, it had nothing on what he had with Fun Ghoul. Fun Ghoul was like...a firefight. Adrenaline pumping, fast and rough, angry, yelling, fighting - and then exhaustion when it was over. Tending the wounds. Patching up the problems. Fun Ghoul was defensive, easily angered, aggressive both actively and passively. Fun Ghoul was the rarest of the three to come out - only when they were in truly desperate times or Frank or Ghoul were honestly too upset to function. Usually, Fun Ghoul made an appearance when someone had gotten hurt. He hated the freezer and would even, when he'd managed to wrestle control for longer than a few hours, refused to sleep in it. But Fun Ghoul was also the most gentle to Gerard. He touched Gerard like he would disappear at any moment, break apart under his very fingertips. Fun Ghoul would spit the most acidic words he could think of, even as he clutched Gerard closer, held him tighter, begged him with his body not to leave. And Gerard, who could never deny Frank (any of him) a thing, could do nothing but obey.


	10. 7. FunPoison (TW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> foooor nat if i rmr right? this was a reward fic of some sort!
> 
> TW for self mutilation

“I need to go check on Ghoul,” Poison mumbled, still feeling numb. He thought his neck should hurt, the topmost layer of his throat having been slit in a threat he recognized but didn’t quite understand - but it didn’t. Nothing hurt, really, except the gaping wound inside of his stomach, swallowing him whole from the inside out.

“Yeah,” Kobra nodded, not tearing his eyes from Jet Star, who hadn’t moved much since Dr. D had stitched up the gash across his eye. He hadn’t been able to save it, Ray was awake, Poison knew that, but he wasn’t going to say anything if Ray needed just a little longer to pretend this as all just a massive, torturous nightmare.

Poison left the room without looking back. He wondered, offhandedly, if he should feel something more than nothing. The Girl had been taken, he figured that his feelings had been taken, too. He hadn’t felt like this, like nothing, since before he’d started planning the Black Parade. 

“Frank?” He knocked softly on their freezer door and then pushed it open slowly, barely wincing at the usual shriek of the metal hinges. He saw Frank in the room, curled into the corner and, for just a moment, was relieved that he’d been relatively unharmed in the fight. That he’d been hurt, but not like Jet Star. 

That was, until he saw the blood. 

“Frank,” He shoved the door the rest of the way open and strode into the freezer, noticing the plastic shard he could only assume was from Kobra’s broken helmet in the middle of their mattress, the dark of the plastic made darker with blood that Poison knew - rationally - was identical to any other person’s blood but yet was still somehow so distinctly Frank’s that it had Poison’s own blood going cold.

“Frank,” And all the feeling he’d been missing flooded back in, _terror_ and _anger_ and _guilt_ all crashing into him in waves as he dropped to his knees and grabbed Frank’s shoulder, forcing him to turn onto his back, eyes already feasting on his arms, looking for rolled up sleeves, gashed veins, mortal wounds that were going to steal Frank from him once again.

But his wrists were clean, dried blood but no cuts or wounds. So were his thighs, still covered by the denim of his jeans, He looked up, relief and confusion coursing through him and he’d opened his mouth to say Frank’s name again, a broken record, and his heart skipped a beat.

Frank - no, he knew those yes - _Fun Ghoul_ looked back at him. Thick thread bulged from his cheeks, which had been sliced open - mangled and still bleeding, one side sewed up but the needle still hanging from the edge of the other.

“Fun Ghoul, _why_ ,” Poison finally got out, just barely holding back from hurling right then and there, throwing up every organ and feeling and the black hole inside of him.

“This is my body now,” Fun Ghoul stared at him, tears streaming from his eyes and his voice slowed and agonized.

“Don’t talk,” Poison fluttered his fingers over his cheeks, not quite touching, fearful to harm him, to make the wounds worse, “Don’t talk, Fun Ghoul, this could kill you, this could be infected, what the _fuck_ , what the _fuck_ ,” 

“I won’t be hurt anymore,” Fun Ghoul shook his head, shoving his hands away, “They let them take her, Gerard, Frank and Ghoul _let them take her_ ,”

“No, no,” Poison shook his head, shoving his hands away so he could finish off the stitch - messy, done by feel in the dark, self inflicted wounds self stitched. “Fun Ghoul, this wasn’t your fault, none of this was any of your fault,” 

Fun Ghoul shook his head, still crying, “They won’t want this body now, it looks like me - not Frank, not Ghoul. _Me_. I’m in charge now.”

“Fun Ghoul,” Poison cupped his face, careful and gentle, “Fun Ghoul, baby, you mutilated your face,”

“No,” Fun Ghoul shook his head, “I just made it match who I am.”

Poison sobbed, found himself flooding with tears, overflowing from his eyes and burning.

“Stop crying,” Fun Ghoul glared at him, but his voice shook, his own tears didn’t slow, “Stop _crying_ , I’m in charge now and there won’t be anymore tears, no more caring, no more feeling,”

“I love you,” Poison shook his head, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, because he couldn’t kiss lips, “Fun Ghoul, you should have talked to me, oh god, you should have _talked to met_ ,” 

“They keep _hurting us_ ,” Fun Ghoul groaned, “I let them do what they want and they keep _hurting me_ , this is my body, my life, too, and all they care about is _feeling_ ,”

“I know,” Poison nodded, trying to get a grip on himself, feeling carved out and eaten up, wracked with guilt that he hadn’t checked on Ghoul sooner, hadn’t stopped Fun Ghoul before he’d disfigured himself. “I know, baby, it’s okay. You’ll be okay. We’ll get her back.”

“Back?” Fun Ghoul shoved at his shoulders then dug his fingers in and stopped him before he could pull back, give Fun Ghoul space, “Get her back? She’s gone, forever.”

“No,” Poison shook his head, “We’re going to save her. Korse won’t keep her from us. He can’t kill the killjoys.” “Yes, he can,” Fun Ghoul did push him away, staring at him in shock, “Gerard, you can’t be serious.” “I am.” Poison stared at him, barely resisted running his thumb over the stitchings, “I won’t let him do this. Not to her, not to you. Not to us.”

Fun Ghoul reached out, touched Poison’s cheek, “You’re insane.” “We’re all insane, baby,” Poison grinned, kissing his forehead again, “We’re gonna show them why you don’t fuck with the killjoys. We’re gonna burn them to the ground.” 

“You’re like a bomb,” Fun Ghoul shook his head, “You’re about to go off, you’re going to take us with you,”

“You love bombs,” Poison finally gave in, fluttered the very tips of his fingers along the rough thread and tried not to lose his smile, knew it must have looked as manic as he felt. “What do you say, sweetheart? Fun Ghoul, Ghoul, Frank, all of you. Fuck, I can’t do this without all of you, Fun Ghoul.”

Fun Ghoul watched him, still bleeding sluggishly around the thread, his skin tight and painful looking. Finally, he slowly nodded, something giving in his eyes, extinguishing one flame and lighting another. An explosion.

“I’ll be your detonator,”

“That’s it, baby,” Poison stood up, pulled Fun Ghoul with him, “Let’s get you some meds to numb your cheeks. We’ll see what Dr. D can do.” “No,” Fun Ghoul shook his head, “This is my face. I’m keeping it like this. They can’t ignore me now, neither of them can pretend I don’t exist anymore,”

“Then we’ll find the meds,” Poison gave in, “Some meds and then we’re going to wire up a plan.”

“What, you think Kobra and Jet Star will go along with this?” Fun Ghoul sneered, “You think they’ll drive into their deaths with us?” “Hell yes,” Poison gripped his hand, squeezed it tight, “Hell yes, they will. Face it, Fun Ghoul, the lot of us are ready to burn bright.”

“I hate you,” Fun Ghoul grumbled, but he squeezed his hand back. Poison had to admit, he hadn’t expected for Fun Ghoul - of all the personalities - to agree to a suicide mission. He also hadn’t expected Fun Ghoul to carve his own face up. It was nice to know that even years into the relationship, they were still keeping it interesting. 

“Love you, too, darlin’,” Poison pasted the smile on, he wanted to match his boyfriend, and walked into the main room. Time to let the world explode. 

-

Fun Ghoul went down first.

“Go,” Poison yelled, pointing his zap at the nearest Drac and letting him go. They were exploding, beautiful stars, he and Fun Ghoul - he wouldn’t be leaving, not now - but Mikey and Ray and the Girl, they could make it. He would make sure they made it.

 _I’m sorry, sweetheart_ , he found himself thinking, bringing one zap down on one Drac and then taking another out and stationing himself in front of the glass doors. Kobra, Jet, the Girl - he could see them outside, running to a familiar van that wasn’t blasting its usual music.

 _We knew this was gonna happen, sometime, someday,_ Poison thought, like he was having a conversation with Fun Ghoul - laying at his feet, still and lifeless. A cold fury had seeped into Poison, the hole in his gut for once silent, finally full of his rage and pain. _We were too good, baby._

He heard the van peel out, felt the glass doors behind him shatter, felt zap beams find his body, felt his muscles go limp - his heart beat a final time and then go still. He fell by Fun Ghoul, turned his head to look at him one last time, eyes swimming. 

His face was wet - blood or tears, he couldn’t tell. 

Shit, he loved him. Loved them. 

Fun Ghoul’s eyes were closed, the torment finally over. Poison found that he wanted to join him. Wanted to become one with the sun and sand and be with Ghoul, Frank, Fun Ghoul - always together. 

He closed his eyes, reached - felt _something_ reach back that felt familiar.

He felt like the moment after the explosion.


	11. 8. FunPoison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essentially, this is a joke au where kobra and ghoul have to Kiss For A Zany Reason and it kind of gets out of control in regards to the desert deciding to treat the killjoys as their own personal gossip subject. Shipper wars begin as first the killjoys, and then the used crew get involved and convince the entire desert that ghoul is some sort of Helen of Troy; running through the hot lads at his leisure. This comes to a head at some point, and there is a fun ‘battle’ between friends for ghoul’s hand. Anonymous witness and fuck machine start a weekly gossip podcast to keep the joke going so they broadcast live coverage of the ‘battle.’ this is definitely an au of Firefight but its just a FUN STORY

“This has to end,” Poison slammed his fist on the table, not interrupting the podcast currently playing - because Anon and Fuck weren’t going to stop talking on their end just because Poison - four zones away - demanded it, but pulling his crew’s attention towards him.

“What has to end?” Kobra asked, like he didn’t know exactly what Poison was talking about - like he hadn’t _started the whole god damned thing._

“Don’t you play play concrete legs with me, Mikeyway,” Poison gave him a dark look, “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” “Nope,” Kobra shook his head, pretending to be interested in the can of beans he’d opened. They were running a little low on supplies - half because crews were refusing to trade with them for fear that they might be pulled into Ghoul’s _irresistible charm,_ the other half because Ghoul was refusing to make his usual supply runs with someone with him and no one was every unbusy enough to ditch a day’s work to go. 

“I’m talking about this Helen of fucking Troy bullshit,” Poison stabbed a finger at his brother, “That _you_ started. And now you’ve got the Used involved!” 

“This just in,” Anon shouted into her microphone, “Poetic Tragedy and Sold Soul had a shoot out just moments ago, the Used’s very own Born Quitter reports that it was indeed a fight over Fun Ghoul’s hand. It’s finally come to blows, folks, it’s finally come to blows.”

“This,” Poison grounded out, turning the volume down, “Is _bullshit_ ,”

“It’s all shiny, Gee,” Jet Star laughed, high pitched and amused from where he and the Girl were doing something together on the workbench. “It’s just a little fun.” “Easy for you to say,” Ghoul grumbled, stabbing at his own, now empty, can of beans, “You’re not the one everyone keeps calling Sand Siren. They’re trying to _change my name_ , Star.”

“Okay, I’ll admit,” Jet Star gave in, “There are a few….vocal members of the fanbase minority that are taking things a little far.”

“Someone threw a rotten tomato at GeeWay, Jet.” The Girl had to disagree, “I dunno ‘bout you guys but this shindig’s blowin’ up higher than the sky and it’s gonna start rainin’ men, soon.”

“Good point,” Kobra finally forced himself to take a mouthful of baked goods and swallow quickly, “It’s been pretty funny, but another coyote with some sick - you know they call it like….PoisonKobra, which - hey, it’s a cool name even if it is a bizarrely gross concept - some sick theories got all up in my face the other day.” “The whole group orgy thing is gaining traction,” Jet Star teased, “Fuck Machine was just telling me the other day,”

“And that’s enough of that,” Fun Ghoul set his spoon in his can with a clatter, “I am not going to go down in these sands being remembered as _Sand Siren_ , seducer of crews and destroyer of families,” “Of course not, Frankie,” Poison frowned, tapping at his chin thoughtfully, “We’re going to end this. I’m going to end this. I just don’t know how, yet.” 

“I’d say stick ‘em up,” The Girl hopped down from her perch on the workbench and scurried over to Poison, clambering into his lap with her usual amount of care - zero fucking percent. She managed to knee him in the groin and he was just able to stop himself from yelping out loud while she finally settled down, “Call ‘em all up and tell ‘em you’re in it to win it.”

“That’s a good plan, my man,” Poison rested his chin on her head, losing the bottom part of his face in her wild, frizzy hair, and squeezed her gently against his chest, treasured the weight of her in his lap because sometimes he forgot just how fleeting they would have he with them until moments like this, when she’d say something that reminded him just a little of her dad and just a little of the home she’d made with them. 

“If the goin’ gets tough, maybe the tough’ll get goin’,” She continued, taping at Fun Ghoul’s empty can with his spoon in a sick rhythm she’d picked up from some song or another, “And then you can have the goin’ all to yourself.” “Am I the ‘goin’ in this situation?” Fun Ghoul raised an eyebrow and the Girl flushed, grinning big and just a tiny bit gap toothed.

“No, you’re Fun Ghoul. The goin’ is your love.”

“Hate to break it to ya’, babe,” Fun Ghoul couldn’t help but crack a smile, “But the love’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“Hmm, good point,” She settled back against Poison’s chest and thought hard. The look of concentration on her face must have been adorable but Poison couldn’t see it from his vantage point so he could only assume it was her smile again. 

“But I like where you were goin’,” Poison smiled his own smile, laughing at the look Fun Ghoul shot him, “Maybe I do need to stick ‘em up.”

“That includes me, ya’ know,” Kobra finished the last of his can with a pained look, handing off his spoon for the Girl to continue her brutal beating of the rim of Ghoul’s can. It got faster and a little more complicated, now that she had two sticks, but no one tried to stop her. Jet Star came closer and took his usual seat next to Poison, still amused.

“And me.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Poison pointed out, smirking, “It looks like that’s what I’m goin’ ta’ have ta’ do,”

“Stick all of us up and demand we let Ghoul’s love go?” Kobra tossed his arm over Ghoul’s shoulder and Ghoul laughed, shoving at his side lightly.

“No, I’m gonna win it fair and square,” Poison looked at Ghoul, amused for the first time since this whole joke started, “What say you, my sand siren?”

“Call me that again,” Fun Ghoul fluttered his eyelashes, “And there won’t be enough of you left for the sand and sun to reclaim, darlin’,”

“Fair,” Poison gave in, but he and Ghoul still high fived and then he squeezed the Girl one last top before he tossed her into Jet Star’s lap with just enough playful roughness as an eleven year old could handle and still squeal with laughter. He had a radio to find and a call-in to make to Anon and Fuck’s stupid podcast. 

\---

“And here we are folks,” Anon whispered into her mic, pigtails high and dip dyed with what may have at some point been green Kool-Aid, “The showdown we’ve all been waiting for. As you know, Party Poison issued the challenge two days ago for all of his love rivals,” and she couldn’t hold in her giggle, “His _love rivals_ to meet him for a final showdown. Anything to add, Fuck?”

“Nothin’ much, Anon,” Fuck Machine shook her head, her own pigtails a deep, dark black - shiny enough to reflect the sun back, as if she’d borrowed some of the city’s shadows as an accessory. Her lips were bright as ever, as if she’d recently bit into a running vein, and she stretched them into a wide smile, her dark eyes crinkling in the corners with amusement, “I’m just excited for all this tension to break! Now, we didn’t advertise where this particular showdown is taking place because we didn’t want a bunch of no-name dust rats showin’ up to ruin the best drama of the century but Anon and I are here to give you all a play-by-play, a second-for-second scoreboard - that’s us,”

“Sure is, Fuck, sure is,” Anon nodded, “And here comes Poison. Now, for those of you unfamiliar with our dear Party Poison, let me just give you all a dashing description, a complementary character description, if you will,” 

“Complementary, or complimentary?” Fuck Machine broke in, laughing and then laughing a little harder when Anon ran an appreciative eye over Poison, standing in the middle of an empty patch of sand.

“A little of both, let’s be honest here,” Anon licked her lips, painted a purple so close to eggplant that Fuck Machine half wondered if she’d recently found a way to melt foods into pure pigment, “But here you go, rock-and-rollers; Party Poison is standing at five-nine and his best feature, in my opinion, is firmly supported by a pair of sturdy Dust Death jeans - not sponsored but, hey! Dust Death, if you’re tuning in, Dr. D is always lookin’ for support and, trust me, we like workin’ with double Ds.” 

“He’s forgone the usual jacket, crash queens, just the black tee today. Look’s like he’s here for business.” “And who can forget the harlot red, huh?” Anon nudged her partner, “With color like that, who needs blood, am I right?” “Agreed, Anon, agreed,” Fuck Machine leaned forward, into her mic, and lowered her voice, “Now, guys, we all know the rules. Fun Ghoul’s hand is important and all, but no one wants any mortal coils shed over his pretty pink lips so we’ve switched to dart guns. Rules are simple, you get hit and you’re out - you don’t, and you ain’t. Anything to add, my girl?” “Nah,” the Girl twittered into Anon’s mic, where she was happily seated in Anon’s lap, her bushy hair twisted into two cute pop-pop similar to Anon’s and Fuck Machine’s. “My bet’s on Poison, though, he’s here to win.” “They’re all here to win,” Anon commented, laughing, “Speaking of winners, here comes the other contestants. Kobra Kid, leader of the pack and Poison’s brother, and then Jet Star of course. Oh, what a shame it is - the Fabulous Killjoys ripped apart by love’s cruel embrace. Star crossed lovers, the lot of ‘em.” “Now, now,” Fuck Machine winked, “Don’t fuel those flames, darling, the Killjoys aren’t the only bulls at the rodeo,” 

“Speaking of, the Used crew has just rolled in. Tragedy and Sold Soul are both first out and, this just in folks, neither seem to be harmed from the reported firefight a few days ago.”

“Born Quitter and Shallow Believer are fast behind, and they all look ready to party.”

“Fun Ghoul has been spotted,” Fuck Machine said, “I repeat, Fun Ghoul has been spotted, sitting inside of the Killjoy Trans Am. He does not look pleased, folks, he does not look pleased a single bit.”

“He isn’t,” The Girl chimed and Anon found herself laughing. 

“Okay, my dust particles, Poison is greeting the rivals. Anon and I have personally vetted each weapon and they’re being passed around. Ooh, what a choice - it seems Shallow Believer is instead choosing to take the foam sword while Kobra Kid has, in true Killjoy fashion, chosen the foam nunchucks.” “Ahh, tough luck,” Fuck Machine hummed in sympathy, “Poison missed out on the automatic, he’s going to be stuck with the single-shot because Jet Star has taken the automatic mere seconds before. Quitter is in the same boat as Poison, but Soul was able to snag the bow and arrows. Remember, folks, it takes a dart to be out of the game but Believer and Kobra have gone for a blunter approach. If they can take their opponents to the ground, then they’re O - U - T - out!” 

“The bow and arrows are a good choice for now,” The Girl considered, “Soul picked nice ‘n’ all, but if he lasts long enough then he’ll be at a disadvantage. He isn’t thinkin’ long game.” “You’re right, my girl!” Fuck Machine agreed, “Too bad he can’t hear us, though! Maybe they should have consulted with the best contestant on the field before they grabbed, huh?” “Tough luck,” The Girl giggled and Fun Machine giggled back before going back to the mic.

“Everyone’s taken their weapon and found their starting places. Poison has managed to turn the weapons table into a makeshift barrier but the others are stuck in the open. Wait, wait, Tragedy is converting the Used car into his own fort and Kobra has slid across the hood of the Trans Am. It’s confirmed, folks, Fun Ghoul _is_ laughing, he _is_ laughing.”

“On the count of three!” Anon yelled, loud enough for both the mic and the desert born in the sands to hear, “One!”

“Two!” Fuck Machine added.

“Three!” The Girl screamed, and all bets were off.

“Aaand Jet Star makes the first hit! Now, each gun comes with three darts so our shooters will have to be careful, conserve shots and gather darts as they move around the field. Star’s first dart misses Quitter but his second is a headshot and Quitter is _out_!”

“Booo,” Anon hummed, “I quite liked BornFun, but I guess it’s the end of an era on that front. The rarepairs get so much less love!”

“Speaking of rare,” Fuck Machine laughed, “It looks like Soul knows how to use that thing after all! His first shot takes out his own team mate and Poetic Tragedy is no longer in the running for Fun Ghoul’s fun times!” “Ooo, FunTragedy, now that was a popular couple once it was revealed that Ghoul had seduced the Used, as well,” Anon tapped the Girl’s shoulder, “What do you think, kiddo?”

“Tragedy’s cool,” The Girl sniffed, “But Poison woulda kicked his butt.”

“Well, that’s now how I remember that happening,” Fuck Machine laughed, “But, the sands are always shifting! Maybe we’ll see a PoeticParty fight again some day, but today is _not_ that day, folks!”

“And this leaves Kobra, Poison, Star, Soul and Believer!” 

“Believer goes after Star with the sword and he _swings_ , miss! Star tries to react, gets his last shot off and wham-bam - they’re _both_ out by Soul!”

“FunBeliever and FunJet were good,” Anon added, “I, personally, thought FunBeliever would have been a riot of a good pair, but it looks like Sold Soul is just as determined as the Way brothers to get his chance with the siren of the sands!”

“Speaking of the Brothers Way, Poison hasn’t - oh, but he has! While the rest of the group have been taking each other out, the wily sneak has moved around the parameter and - oh, dear, poor Soul! He never saw it comin’!” “Well,” The Girl shrugged, “With hair like Poison’s, Soul should have seen him coming from a mile away,” 

“It was the action rolls,” Anon agreed, “Speaking of which, how can anyone action roll that much? What is that, Fuck? His fourth?” “Poison does love his action rolls - oh, and a dive for effect! He did dodge that final arrow from Soul just fine before he took him out but, oh dear, it looks as if he’s out of bullets! And he’s tossing aside his single shot for Soul’s discarded sword as Kobra approaches.” “I gotta say, Girl, do you know who taught him how to use those things? Master of the chained pipes, that’s what we say,”

“He’s self taught,” The Girl bragged, “And Kobra could take anyone out with anything, but he does like nunchucks the best.”

“Makes sense that he’d chose them for the final brothers’ stand off, then,” Fuck Machine nodded, “And, oh, the irony, rock-and-rollers, the irony! How this whole thing started, so long ago,”

“A few weeks,” Anon agreed.

“That fateful kiss, the FunKobra love was consummated with that kiss. It saved the lives of the Killjoys from the dreaded Draculoids, but what did it mean for FunParty?” 

“And, really, Fuck, isn’t this exactly the kind of showdown we all craved?”

“The two brothers - together through it all - torn apart by love for the same person.” “So romantic! So tragic!”

“Bleh,” The Girl gagged into the mic, “Gross.”

“Gross, it may be,” Anon leaned forward, laughing, “But Kobra goes in for the first strike and - hits! Party Poison is hit and his leg is now dead, he’s forced to maneuver without the use of his leg, dust angels! Could this be the end? Could Party Poison lose to Kobra Kid, cementing the first intruder as the victor?”

“Of course not!” Fuck Machine nearly jumped from her seat, “He’s rolled under the Used’s car, blocked Kobra’s final attack, and he’s reappeared on the other side of the car and - he is _using the sword as a throwing weapon_! I repeat, Party Poison has hurled the sword as if it were a throwing dagger and has _nailed_ Kobra in his gut!” “Kobra goes down, gasping, choking for breath, he’s been deadly hurt guys but he isn’t out yet! Poison has lost his weapon and his single shot. He’ll have to find another weapon and Kobra is struggling to his feet.”

“They’re both injured,” Anon reiterated, nearly breathless from giggling, enough that she had to stop. Kobra was such a fun actor when he got into the role and he was playing his part perfectly. They both were, the two of them tussling on the sand like motorbabies, laughing and carefree, their friends pretending to be dead around them but mostly cheering on either one or the other. Even Fun Ghoul had left the Trans Am and was sitting on its hood, nearly crying from laughter at the antics of his crew. The Girl was trying to hold her own laughter in, too, turning her head to muffle herself in Anon’s shoulder so she wouldn’t be picked up when Anon pressed the button on her mic.

“They’re both turning to dust,” Fuck Machine picked for her, having regained her composure while Anon was talking, “They’re both fatally injured, Poison’s leg isn’t looking too shiny and Kobra’s just barely able to knee-walk his way around the car. He’s grabbed the sword, folks, Kobra Kid has grabbed the sword and struggled to his feet and he’s approaching his brother, who is desperately searching for something - anything.”

“He’s found it folks, just in time! Oh, what a sight, what a _sight_ ,” Anon shouted, “Poison is fumbling for a single-shot, it should have a dart in it since Quitter never got a single shot off but will he make it in time, folks, will he?”

“Kobra is standing over him, he’s goin’ gray, but his sword is high! A final hit and Kobra will be the champion!”

“He _hesitates_!” Anon slapped the table, “Kobra has the killing blow and he _hesitates_ , it looks like he can’t do it! He can’t end his brother for the love of Fun Ghoul!”

“But Poison has no hesitation!” Fuck Machine squealed, “And Kobra is _down_ , and that is _it_ , guys! Party Poison, _the_ Party Poison, has defeated both the Used and his own crew for the hand of his love!”

“I knew he was gonna win,” The Girl sniffed, but she was grinning too wide for Anon to avoid squeezing her into a hug and rocking a few times until she was giggling in her lap again. “When the goin’ gets tough, the tough keeps the goin’.”

“I’m sure that makes sense, babe,” Fuck Machine leaned over to give her a sloppy kiss on the cheek and she squealed and tried to squirm away but Anon was holding fast until she had a bright red kiss mark on her tanned cheek.

“You guys _suck_ ,” The Girl said emphatically, into the mic, and they both laughed too hard to continue for a moment. 

“And now for the final scene,” Anon hummed, leaning forward to whisper into her mic again, “Ghoul has approached his champion and firmly swooned into his arms. Poison is now dipping him as if he were a fairy tale princess and they’re - oh dear, close your eyes, Girl!” “They are now furiously making out, oh dear,” Fuck Machine clapped, “And that’s it folks! After weeks of arguing and theories, the final results are as followed: The love is real, my guys! I saw the color fading from Poison before my very eyes but the mere sight of Fun Ghoul running to his side restored what colors his brother had managed to take.”

“Thanks for joining us on this wild ride,” Anon agreed, “It’s been fun, it’s been fine, it’s sure been a time, rock-and-rollers, motorbabies, crash queens, and every guy, gal, inbetween, and neither! This is the last Sand Siren update but tune in next week for our usual shit show!”

“And remember,” Fuck Machine chimed in, “Keep runnin’, fuckers, keep runnin’,”

They ended the transmission and the Girl hopped off Anon’s lap.

“I’m gonna go make sure everyone is okay!” She called over her shoulder, already headed towards where Jet Star had gone down and was currently helping Poetic Tragedy dust himself off.

“Cute kid,” Fuck Machine smiled, watching her go fondly. 

“Cute couple,” Anon winked and tilted her head towards Poison and Ghoul, who had yet to untangle themselves from each other. They were both too far to hear any of what either of them were whispering to each other, but Ghoul’s eyes had gone misty and Poison’s cheeks had gone read and they were cute as a fuckin’ button, cute enough to eat, cute enough to shoot straight into the sky because a love like theirs’ was too pure for this world. They deserved the stars, the sun itself, in Anon’s opinion. 

They both went back to cleaning up their equipment, still laughing together over the spectacle that that fight had been. Dr. D would be pissed he missed it, but no one had believed Anon about how funny it was gonna be aside from her bestie, so fuck ‘em.

“Hey!” Poison shouted and Anon glanced over her shoulder, waving when he waved at her first. “Thanks, guys!”

“No, thank you!” Fuck Machine called back, “That was our highest listener count in a non-emergency situation since our second show!”

“Maybe pick a different topic next time!” Ghoul answered, rolling his eyes, but he looked pleased enough and Anon just winked at him until he went an even cuter shade of pink.

Yeah, okay, it was all a big joke, Anon knew that, but fucking _seriously_ : Sand Siren would have been a fitting name for Fun Ghoul, if he wanted it. 

Anon shook the thought off, exchanged a knowing glance with Fuck Machine, and went back to packing their equipment. They’d had their fun, for the time being.

It was time to go home.


	12. 9. Original Pete/Benzedrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is like. from the notebook i made all the original firefight notes in! before benzedrine was even really concrete as a character! as you can see, he and pete had a.....slightly different relationship :)

Pete woke with a start, sitting straight up with a loud gasp. He felt his heart racing, banging guard against his chest, like it wanted to beat its way out of him.

He felt Sandman stir, but he soothed the darkness inside him as best he could, thinking _just a dream_ as hard as he could as his hand went to find Patrick's warm body next to him.

Patrick's spot was cold, sheets creased just as they'd been after Patrick had rolled away and off the bed to get a rag to clean them after their nightly activities. Pete had fallen asleep before he's gotten back. If he'd gotten back.

"Patrick!!" He nearly shrieked, feeling terror lurch high in his throat, feeling Sandman awaken and ear up in a fury.

"Pete." 

Cool, anything but calm, the single word said with a half crazed voice.

A cold sweat broke out on Pete's naked skin, but he relaxes and began to shake from the hit of adrenaline quickly coursing through and out of his sleepy veins.

"B-Benzedrine."

Gold eyes, a small, teeth-baring smile, powder pale skin and a yellow top hat were all Pete could see, bright and shiny in the darkness of the room. But where that exact imagine could have and should have terrified anyone else, it only gave Pete comfort, security.

"You are you awake?" He finally broke the silence, reaching his hand out to the darkness as if to close the space between them.

Benzedrine stood, Patrick's sleeping pants loose around his hips and nothing else in the coolness of the room.

His hands, deceptively gentle but capable of breaking bone with a twitch, cupped Pete's rougher hands, gentle and warm as one slid up his arm to cup his face.

"Not tired."

There was always just... _off_ about the Doctor's voice. Something _wrong_. The twinge of _bad_ made Sandman purr wickedly inside of him.

"Is Patrick okay?" 

Benzedrine nodded again, the small grin stretching into a grin, which looked nothing but painful with his painted lips making his mouth look much to small for such a large expression.

"Tired." 

Pete hesitated as he thought the answer over. Even him, with the Doctor's obsession and doting, was not completely safe from his more violent tendencies when he was aggravated. Finally, he lifted his face up invitingly, eyes falling shut. Benzedrine let out a just slightly crazed giggle and leaned down, pressing his lips to Pete's in a hard, bruising kiss, so much different from Patrick's softer touches, but still just as wanted. Pete pulled Benzedrine down to the bed, pressing close, needing to feel this body's heart beating hard against his own as they moved together. Benzedrine was rougher than Patrick, but both were so careful of Pete's body it was nearly painful in itself, the light touches paired with Benzedrine's hard movements as he held Pete in place driving the older man crazy.

When they were done, the dark of the room settling around them once again, Benzedrine stroked through Pete's sweat-matted hair.

"What if I dream it again-" Pete starts to whisper into the safety of the darkness, but the Doctor just hushes him, beginning to sing softly in his own warped version of Patrick's voice, the tune of it just enough to set Pete's teeth on edge in a way he wasn't sure was good or bad, "Hush, little panda, let me scream you to sleep," he kissed Pete's forehead in that was almost a mockery of affection if Pete didn't know that the Doctor _did_ love him in his own, warped way. "If the monsters come, remember," he hummed, "Those in your head, may go when you wake, but those in your bed, stay forever. Sleep now, my panda, your nightmares do wait, but enjoy what you can, before it's too late." 

Pete shuddered, and despite the fear he felt niggling in his stomach, he was also strangely comforted. He fell asleep in the Doctor's arms to an almost gentle hand carding through his hair.

-

Benzedrine was still there, watching him, when Pete woke up to sunlight peeking through the curtains. It didn't worry Pete. Though Patrick had been rescued months ago, he was still mentally recovering. There were good days and bad days, and Pete knew from his own experience that there would be good days and bad days for the rest of Patrick's life. Benzedrine always came out first on bad days, as if to make sure the coast was clear before he let Patrick out. Sandman had done the same for Pete for years. 

Pete blinked his eyes open sleepily and met the golden pin pricked eyes with a fuzzy smile.

"Come on, little panda. Lets us go get some food, huh?" Benzedrine singsonged from where he was already across the room, in front of the special closet that he and Mr. Sandman shared, picking out his yellow jacket to match the top hat he'd replaced on his head.

Pete lounged a bit longer, watching his lover's body sway just slightly as he slid into the jacket and a pair of pants before standing to pull on his skinny jeans from the day before and the handmade "I need a Doctor" tee Bill had made him that Benzedrine had taken a liking to.

He was used to the possessive touches Benzedrine liked to use with him. Sandman was the same with Patrick, and Benzedrine himself (and even Pete on those weird occasions where they're sharing their body). That said, the firm hand pressed low on his back (who was he kidding, on his ass) didn't shock him much as they walked down the deserted hall to the canteen. Pete wouldn't say it out loud, but he did enjoy being the center of attention around Benzedrine. 

Pete didn't even try to get into the short food line. He let Benzedrine set him at the corner table, his back and left side protected by walls and both the main and side entrances in view of the table. Minutes later, Benzedrine returned with a non-meat, low-dairy breakfast. Usually they couldn't afford to be so picky, but not many could refuse the golden, nearly-pupil-less gaze and Travie's latest raid had been on a food storage truck with fresh produce on its way to the better Living factory to be processed for the stores.

On the tray was a bowl of assorted fruit, a plate of golden-brown pancakes with what might have been real maple syrup on them and another bowl of what might have been cheese and crackers, and a cup of juice and a mug of black coffee.

"Thanks," Pete mumbled sleepily once the Doctor had settled next to him and placed the tray on the table. He reached out to pick up a piece of what looked melon but Benzedrine held his hand back before he got the chance. Pets flushed, watching the pale fingers pick up a piece of fruit and bring it to Pete's mouth. The melon traced his lips lightly before pressing until he opened his mouth, and then the fingers gently traced his lips while he chewed, tanned cheeks bright pink. They set like that for over an hour, Benzedrine feeding him small pieces if food or letting him sip from first the juice and then the coffee was the juice was gone. When the food was gone and Pete was full, the Doctor pushed the empty tray away and settled Pete more firmly against him, using the wall as a prop to lean against and pulling Pete to his chest. His hand went back to roughly carding through his hair and Pete's eyes slid shut without thought.

At some point, Travis, Gabe, and Bill joined them, but all three were careful to speak to each other quietly so they didn't wake Pete and garner Benzedrine's wrath.

Pete dozed against the warmth until the morning rush hit. When the first of the soldiers began trickling in, he set up and away from Benzedrine. He already made them nervous, and seeing Pete laying all over him wouldn't help. The doctor wasn't fond of the change, but settled for holding Pete's hand on top of the table.

"Ryland's reports are in. Shit's goin down in the desert. Korse snatched that kid BL's been looking for." Gabe said after he was sure Benzedrine wouldn't stab him. He'd been on his tele-municator since Travie and Bill had led him out of their room and to the canteen, watching the live stream Ryland had set up of Drac movements.

"Shiit." Pete cursed, "Wasn't she with those guys? The Killjoys?" He scrubbed his face hard to try to wake up a little more.

"Sí, 'mano. Ryland said Korse is expecting then to make some sort 'a entrada magníficia. They probably won't be coming back out again." Gabe cursed under his breath and bit savagely into the apple Travie had put in his hand while he'd been speaking.

The Killjoys hand been gaining popularity lately and their loss would lose major morale with their own guys, even in Battery City.

Gabe touched a small scar on his wrist, two small pinpricks that matched a number of matching sets all over his body. He'd gotten them from the fight that had won him his place as one of Pete's trusted counsel, in a deathmatch with one of BL's Cobra droids. He'd been bitten an untold amount of times before he'd managed to destroy the droid but he'd taken the whole quiver and their creators out with them.

Pete was quiet, brown eyes half closed as he thought through their next course of action. Bill continued to text whoever it was he'd been talking to all morning while Travie focused on eating the first meal he'd had since his team had gotten back from their week long raiding party. 

"How hard do you think it'd be to infiltrate? I want those Killjoys here and I want them alive."

Benzedrine, thumb rubbing circles over Pete's hand, snapped his eyes to meet Gabe's, holding the contact. What Pete wanted, he better damn well get.

Gabe thought about it for a moment.

"If we start today, we could get maybe ten guys in within the week."

"...do it. I want those Killjoy's. Don't let the kid die if you can help it, but focus on those four."

Gabe nodded and stood.

"Lo tengo, jefe. I'll go in myself and head it from the inside. Ry can take over for me here while I'm in op."

Pete nodded and held out his fist, which Gabe bumped with his own, shooting a sleazy wink at Benzedrine, before he turned and disappeared into the crowd, presumably to go inform his team. 

"Heads up, Billiam. I want the best we got on this with Gabe. Keep it on the DL, need-to-know only."

"You got it, sweet cheeks." Bill chirped, standing as well. He waved, not looking up from his tele-municator, and flounced off to go do whatever Bill did when he wasn't in their company.

"And you," Pete pointed a stern finger at Travie, "rest up. I want your team ready if we need you, but otherwise stay safe, stay in base, and sleep."

"Santi." Travis agreed around a mouthful of toast, making Pete laugh 

"We're letting that die down, remember dickhead?"

Travie just grinned, wide and gross, metal piercings flashing, before he swallowed, "Whatever, bromigo."

He stood once he'd finished his toast and ruffled Pete's hair, keeping a steady eye on Benzedrine as he did so, then hurried off to go inform his guys.

Pete shook his head to make his hair fall back to place, though it didn't help much, and leaned against the Doctor.

"Why don't you rest, baby? Its safe to let Pattycakes out to play for awhile." He kissed Benzedrine's jaw lightly and smiled when he felt the other man nuzzle him a little.

"Stay safe, little panda. Sandyman will want to play soon."

Pete just smiled again as Patrick's body slumped for a few seconds while the gold drained from his eyes , leaving baby blues to blink up at Pete drowsily.

"Hey, sweetheart. Hungry?" Pete smiled, pulling the bowl of fruit Bill had brought and left behind towards them 

"Starving." Patrick snuff led against Pete's neck, setting the hat on the table and peeling the yellow jacket off as well. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth until the lipstick came off and the powder disappeared onto his shirt sleeve.

"I wish he'd pick up better fashion sense." He signed after he'd removed the last traces of Doctor Benzedrine from his physical person.

Pete just laughed and pulled a folded up cap from his jacket pocket and smashing it onto Patrick's head for him.

"There. All better."

Patrick rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt but he was smiling so Pete knew that maybe it _wasn't_ all better, but it was getting there, and with a little Fabulous Killjoy help, it might be sooner than he'd hoped.


	13. 10. Original Tumbleweeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and this......is the drabble i wrote for my friend maggie that Started what would become firefight! its totally tonight and i dont think i touched it up in at least two years so....enjoy a five year old drabble asjdlkf 
> 
> there is a bit of an abrupt ending but i think that is when i realized i needed to stop writing this on facebook messanger and start writing it down in a place i wouldnt lose it lmao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who stuck with me, any new readers, and my friends <3 especially you, maggie. we dont talk much anymore, but you were one of the best friends ill ever have and i love you!!!!!
> 
> also special shout out to dami, who kicked my ass so many times over firefight, marianne, who has stuck wtih me thru all of this bs and was STILL cheerleading me all these years later jasdlkf, and natalie, who let me whine at her for hours over this damn fic. you guys are too good to me and i appreciate you more than you know!!!!!!!
> 
> ALSO special shout out to anyone who made art or content for this au!!!!!! youre AMAZING and i fucking love every bit of what you created. im so honored that you would want to spend your time on my au. if your stuff isnt linkde somewhere on here, please let me know!!!! i will fix that!!!!!

"Bad news from the zones, Tumbleweeds, it looks like Jet Star and the Kobra Kid had a clap with an exterminator that went all Costa Rica and uh, got themselves ghosted, dusted out on Route Guano. So it's time to hit the red line and upthrust the volume out there, keep your boots tight, keep your gun close, and die with your mask on, if you've got to, here is the traffic."

Poison and Ghoul had called in Star and Kobra's disappearance yesterday and when Ghoul's old crew had found the wreckage of the motorcycles Kobra and Star had been driving, Poison had been notified by Dr. D during one of his reports, no way to be told any other way.

Ghoul had barely gotten there in time before Poison was screaming and struggling, knees having given out as he screamed and cried. The tears hadn't been unexpected but Ghoul knew they had enough water to replenish the loss of body fluid, now that Star and Kobra were gone but he didn't dare say that.

Party Poison just screamed and screamed until Ghoul was half sure he'd bring down all of the dracs and the exterminator's, hell, all of BL/Inc. down on them with the noises he was making. Ghoul hadn't really known them well, he'd barely been with the Fabulous Killjoys' a month or so, and he and Poison were sharing a bed and some heat between the sheets, yeah, but he didn't even know their names.

But he was...fond of Poison, and Jet and Kobra were cool dudes. Had been cool dudes.

So Ghoul knew he should have split before shit hit the fan, he Knew he should have left before Poison's screams (and oh God his screams, Ghoul hadn't heard anything so heartbreaking since his mom had been grabbed by the patrolling dracs when the two of them had been escaping Bat city) attracted the wrong kind of attention, but he just. couldn't.

So he drags Poison back into the empty abandoned diner the four of them had been crashing in and yanked him down into their file of ratty blankets and flattened, ripped up pillows and locked his arms around him. Poison struggled for awhile, fighting against his hold like if he pulled away his brother and best friend would be back, but Ghoul just closed his eyes and yanked him to his chest again, one hand tangling in the back of knotted, crimson hair and pressing the tear-stained, crying-red face to his collar, felt the tears sink into his skin. He lost track of time after awhile, just holding the shaking form of the man in his arms until Poison finally passed out. He didn't stop crying though, even in sleep, and all Ghoul could do was run his hands through his hair, gently untangling it to relax Poison's tense form.

When Ghoul woke up the next day, Poison was still clinging tightly to him, the tears stopped but the misery still plain on his face like the dust cloud of a motormachine in the desert.

They laid in silence for the rest of the day, Ghoul getting up only once to bring in two of the bottles of clean water that Star had traded for a week ago. Together, they sipped one until it was empty and saved the other for later, room temperature but still cooler then the hair outside, freezing when pressed to Poison's flushed-with-tears skin.

Poison only said a few words that day, just "My name's Gerard."

Ghoul had paused, looking around his chest for the feeling of 'in too deep, get out now, don't trust, don't get attached, you know what happens when you-"

"Frank."

That night, Ghoul and Poison fucked hard, Poison cried with the pain and then he cried with the misery that washed over him. Then Frank and Gerard made love and Frank kissed the man under him over and over and over, until the dust of the desert outside and the salt of the tears had disappeared for a few minutes.

A week passed like that, near silence as Poison mourned (A sobbed out "M-Mikey. He was three years younger. We were close. He was my world, ya' know?" and two days later, a quietly choked out "His name was Ray 'nd he's been my best friend since we were four." in the pitch black of the night) and Ghoul did his own mourning, a too long glance at where Star used to fiddle with his gadgets and let Ghoul watch, talking about the music they remembered from back in Battery, or a thought lingered on of how Kobra had told Ghoul he was gonna help him re-bleach his hair as soon as Dr. D found them a good lead on some quality dye.

During the day, Poison and Ghoul would watch each other, pack a little bit when Ghoul could nudge Poison into it ("We can't stay here forever. Show Pony said they'd be doin a sweep of Zone Six 'nd that shit's too close f'er comfort."), and fucking each other into the dust.

At night, Gerard let Frank pull him close and gentle him, slid their hands together and hold tight as moans filled the air, and then they'd fuse together as best they could, sweat and come and whatever else cooling off in the little spaces that they couldn't get their bodies to press together in.

They didn't talk a lot about it, and Ghoul still caught Poison crying a few times in those seven days they waited, but he also made him smile a few times when he told Poison some weird shit he'd seen when he'd been traveling with the Pency Preps and then Leathermouth.

Finally, Dr. D came alive with his usual "Look aliiiiive, Sunshine!" and Zone Six was being invaded with exterminators and dracs all over.

Ghoul didn't waste anymore time. He packed away all their supplies, grabbed a can of paint to spray the 'empty, safe' mark onto the boarded up window of the place and went to find Poison.

The redhead had found his way into the garage, the last place he and Kobra had hung out together before he and Star had gone off on that intel run.

"It's all packed up, Poison. We need to go. They're gettin' closer."

"I can't go, Ghoul." his voice was flat and hard, like the rocks scattered along the sand outside.

"Fuck that, man. We need to go. If they find us here, we ain't gettin' back out."

"Then leave. Take the stuff, I don't care. I'm not leaving." Poison lifted his head, leaning it back against the wall to stare at the ceiling, "I have to be here if they-" his voice caught, throat working around the words he couldn't voice.

"Poison! God damn it, they aren't coming back! We've been here a week, we should have cleared out when we heard about the raids!" Ghoul threw his hands up in the hair, gloved palms dusty, bare fingers cracked and rough from sand, wind, and heavy lifting.

When Poison didn't react, Ghoul dropped to his knees in front of him and places his hands on Poison's knees, fingers pressed to the rough material of his jeans.

"Poison. Gee. We can't stay here. They wouldn't want that for you. Caught in some God forsaken building by a bunch of mindless dracs, taken out without a fight. They might be gone, but you can't just give up. Would you want either of them to go out like that if it'd been reversed?"

Gerard's eyes had closed again, the dark circles under his eyes almost invisible against the tanned-brown of his face, here in the near dark of the room, "Frank. Frankie, I can't. What if. Just. That little. I can't. I can't, if there's even a possibility. I can't."

Ghoul knew he should leave. With the supplies the Killjoys' had been able to stockpile, he'd be set for at least three months. A nice Trans Am with the killjoy symbol to scare off any would-be thief, food and water enough for a month to feed four people, and all on his lonesome.

But Frank couldn't let himself. He knew if he left, every time he closed his eyes he'd see Gerard's face, that bright crimson hair, just brushing against his jawline and his crooked mouth, and his big, hazel eyes, gold in the sun and liquid silver in the dark. He'd never be able to touch another person again without imagining Gerard's skin under his, peach pale under his clothes, warm brown in the exposed places, and so rough where sand and wind could reach, only to be soft and bruise-easy where his clothes protected him. That cocky swing to his hips when he was in a mood, that sassy tilt to his whole body when he had some smart ass comeback.

"Gee. Gerard. Please. Just come with me. Please."

"Frankie." Gee said desperately, eyes finally opening to meet his. Filled with tears he couldn't let himself shed anymore and so much sadness, "I don't think I can go without them."

Sliding his palms down his legs, up his chest, over his shoulders to gently cradle his neck in one and and his cheek in the other, Frank swiped one thumb lightly under his eye to catch the small wetness that had collected and tried to escape, "Then don't. Take them with you, but you can't let them die completely, you're all that they have left to live through. When you die, they're gone forever. Don't let these fuckers take them out twice, Gee. Come on. Come with me."

They were both silent, staring in the near darkness of the room. Frank held his breathe, trying to show Gerard just how much he'd grown to...he didn't know what this was. Like? It was so much stronger then that. He'd Liked Shawn and the Prep's, he'd fuckin' loved Leathermouth. This was so much different from that though, stronger then 'like' or even 'love'.

Finally, just when Frank had almost given up and dragged him out over his shoulder, kicking and screaming be damned, Gerard nodded and wiped roughly at his eyes.

"Let's go."

They left ten minutes later, Gerard doing a final sweep of the last place he'd seen his brother and best friend ever again, before Poison got into the passenger seat. Ghoul slid into the driver's seat and put his booted foot down hard, peeling off into the sun. It wasn't sunset, that was too fuckin' cliche, it was like mid-fuckin-afternoon, and Ghoul wasn't sure where they were going, but he let Poison slid the static of the radio on, just loud enough to catch the sounds coming through before he found the right frequency and Dr. Deathdefying's voice came out loud and proud, the last of what could have been the 'Stones, or even something from the Misfits' if Ghoul let himself hope (He hadn't let himself do that in a long time, but with Poison's hand lightly touching his side, not trying to start something but just looking for some solid weight beside him, some proof that he wasn't alone like he would have been if this tragedy had happened two months ago).

They found some place close to Dr. D a day or two later, accidentally. He hadn't seen D in person in what seemed like forever, so he didn't fight the bright grin or the bone crushing hug Show Pony gave him, and he even returned the stupid thumbs up that Dr. D sent him, but he didn't move his arm from around Poison's waist, and when Show Pony stepped back from Gerard's hug, he wrapped the other arm around him an dhugged him tight, his chest pressed to Poison's back.

"Fuck, Gee. I fuckin' love you."

And Gee gave him a soft smile, not okay but getting there, and pressed a light kiss-their first in the daylight-to his cheek, only centimeter's from his lips, "Damn right you do, sugar."

They stayed in the ramshackle porta-studio for maybe a week, where Poison moped but not to the point that Ghoul feared a relapse, before they were awoken one day by a loud, relieved "Kobra Kid, Jet Star! Oooh, is Party Poison gonna be glad to see you!"

Ghoul didn't wake Poison up, just stood, slipped his his vest on, clipped his zapper into his holster and went to check it out before he let himself believe.

He saw Kobra's bright blond hair first, then the giant dark frizz of Star's fro, and their identical, dirty but relieved grins, a bit confused to see Ghoul instead of Poison, but happy none the less, and he was grinning wide, turning back on his heels to lead them into their own small, sectioned off camping ground.

Poison had curled up in Ghoul's warm spot, a slight frown on his sleeping face.

Kobra didn't even hesitate, just dropped his zapper, toed off his shoes and ripped his filthy jacket off before he was crawling into the bed, insistent hands tugging at Poison's clothes.

"GeeGeeGeeGeeGerardGee wake the fuck up, wake up you fuckhead, wake up!"

"M-Mikey?" Gerard mumbled, eyes cracking open drowsily. He had cried in his sleep last night, eyes still slightly gummy with dried salt and tear wet sand, voice sleep-drunk, "i's too fuckin early, what the fuck-"

"Gee!" Mikey sounded choked up himself now and Ghoul stood against the wall, smiling slightly as he watched the realization dawn on Gerard's face, the emotion that the word 'joy' couldn't capture that covered his features, before he launched himself at Mikey, nearly shrieking out Mikey's name.

Ray laughed from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest like he had to stop himself from reaching out into the brothers' moment, and he and Frank just watched at Gerard kissed Mikey's face everywhere he could reach, hands going to run through his hair and over his shoulders and arms like he could barely believe he was here, mumbling about this being a dream as tears covered his and Mikey's cheeks again, their tears mingling together as they held each other.

Dirt tracks leaked down Mikey's cheeks, but neither seemed to care as they embraced tightly. Finally, Ray stepped forward and crawled forward to envelope them both in a tight hug, a large grin stretching along his wide mouth, "Fuck, Gee, we missed you."

Gee laughed loudly, almost hysterical as he clutched them both tightly.

Frank felt a clang in his heart, so fucking Fond of Gerard, even of Mikey and Ray, but he knew this wasn't his, couldn't be his after the shit he'd done with Leathermouth, with Pency, on his own when he'd only cared about surviving and nothing else. So Ghoul slipped out when Gerard had buried his face in Ray's chest, let the clothe that worked as their door close behind him and went to hang out with Show Pony and Dr. D, maybe guest star a little on the next broadcast and announce the great news. Listen to some tunes and let the little family have their reunion.

An hour, then two, then three passed, but Ghoul didn't mind much, listening to some classics, and even some contraband underground shit Dr. D had magicked out of Battery when BL/Ind wasn't looking.

Kobra (Not Mikey, he wasn't Mikey to Frank, he was Mikey to Gerard, who could only be Poison to Ghoul, what the fuck had he let himself (Frank) talk himself (Ghoul) into(but weren't Frank and Ghoul the same person, of course he was only one person but Frank was Frank and Ghoul was Ghoul and he didn't know anymore, he just knew he wanted the burn of a cigarette in his lungs and a needle inking into his skin and some fuckin' pain meds for his head, God Damn) found him with a hat he'd taken from Show Pony on his head, shadowing the sun from his eyes as he lounged shirtless on the Trans Am, tanning his skin to get an even layer across his body. His ink showed hard in the light, and he loved it, lightly tracing his own lines with his rough fingers, brushing over the date he'd had inked in for Jamia before they'd split with a kiss and a fence between them, the birds on his stomach, the Mary on his arm, the words on his chest. So many he couldn't even count them now.

"He told me what you said. What you did."

Frank cracked an eye open and tossed a lazy grin at Kobra, flicking the rim of the hat up so he could properly see the black figure that the sun had turned him into.

"Did he now. And where is he? Shouldn't the three of you be snuggl'n in bed? You 'n' Jet Star looked ready to fuse with the dust, you were so ragged."

Kobra snorted and dropped his gangly onto the hood next to Frank, just as unmindful of the slowly too-hot-heat that was beginning to burn into his skin through his pants.

"He and Ray are sleepin'. We can drop the names now, bro. You're more than one of us now. Frank."

Ghoul tried not to flinch at the name, grinned again, "But Fun Ghoul has such a nice ring to it, ya' know? Much better 'n 'Frank'."

Kobra nodded, humming lightly, "Yeah, I guess." He stood up.

"Come on, Frank. He's gonna be pissed if he wakes up and one of his guys' his missing."

Ghoul hesitated, frowning slightly, "Kobra. I'm not. I can't. You know I can't. After the shit I've done. The people I've hurt-fuckin' killed. He rescues puppies and adopts kids until we can get them to the traveling kid cars. What the fuck do you think he's gonna do when he realizes that I'm Frank Iero and not just some fucked up guy he met through Dr. D and Dewees."

Kobra just rolled his eyes, "Trust me, Frank. He knows. He knew who you were the second he met you, and he still invited you in. Now get your ass up and into that bed before he wakes up and goes on a rampage. You think you've seen bad, just wait until he turns into a Real diva."

Ghoul cracked a smile, stood up and tugged his shirt back on, dropped the hat into the drivers seat through the open window and followed Mikey back to the sectioned off area, kicking off his dusty boots and tossing his vest onto the pair before he set on the bed. Carefully, he reached out to the sleeping redhead, running his fingers slowly though the bright red strands, cupping his smooth cheek, thumb brushing under his eyes again.

Gerard pressed into the touch, a pleased hum and a whispered "Frankie..." huffing out in a soft exhale and Frank cracked a smile (or was it Fun Ghoul, he just couldn't tell anymore, GerardPartyPoisonGee made him mix everything up, made FunGhoulFrankFrankieIero someone he just couldn't identify).

God, what was happening to him.

Mikey brushed past him, a hand sliding over his shoulder lightly, "Stop thinking, asshole." and then he slid into the spot between Gee and Ray, eyes closing and breathing evening out immediately.

Frank wondered what Ray though about all of this, but he finally just shook his head, ran a rough hand through rough, knotted black hair and laid down, wrapped his arm around Gerard's waist. Immediately, Gee pressed against him, face hiding in Frank's neck and a soft 'love you, Frankie' escaping against his skin, whisper soft.

"love you, too, Gee. Go back to sleep."

Gerard made a soft humming noise, Party Poison pressed a kiss against his jaw, where he could feel his pulse jumping, and then Gee felt back to sleep, one hand clenching in Mikey's shirt, the other in Frank's.

Frank hummed to himself and closed his eyes, let himself hope again, this time for something a little bit bigger than catching the end notes of a Misfits song, and a little more like finding a home. Ghoul pressed another kiss to Gerard's forehead, Frank closed his eyes, and Frankie went to sleep, pressed tight to home and surrounded by everything he'd found all on his own.

-

Patrick was born into a family of wealth. His mother died giving birth to him, a young women by the name of Ariel Stump, and his father, Edwin, was an important executive to BL/ind. Patrick and his father never got on well, Edwin had always blamed him for Ariel's death, and Patrick blamed himself as well. The first fifteen years of Patrick's life consisted of frosty silences during dinner on the rare nights his father came home before twelve at night, lessons from strict, bland tutors hired by BL/ind., and hiding in his room, listening to contraband music Joe had slipped into his bag when Patrick was leaving his tutoring sessions as Joe was going in. Joe and Patrick had been friend's since they had run into each other outside of the tutoring center. They'd seen something in each other that day that made it possible to stay tight friends from the second they met, between the weeks they sometimes went without seeing or speaking to each other past brief eye contact and even briefer word exchanges.Patrick hated his life, but he was. Not unhappy. He was resigned to his fate, to the fate of those he knew, to be bland and plain like everyone else. His mother had had fire for hair, a bold red and freckled skin-a remnant from the coloring of her ancestors, from before BL/ind. had outlawed dyes. His father's blond had muted Patrick's own, a weird mismatch of genetics leaving him strawberry blond with his father's large blue eyes rather then Ariel's green ones and the pale skin of her forefathers, but without the freckled markings that made her so unique. When Patrick was young, he remembered hisf ather getting drunk quite often on the days he was home.Edwin would ramble terribly when he had a few in him, and sometimes, he'd talk about Ariel. Patrick had her fiery temper, Edwin had admitted, and her compassion and her grace (of which their was little). Edwin had tried to love Patrick like he knew his wife would have wanted, but to look at him was to see her and to see her was to remember her death, caused by him. Patrick was fifteen when his father was killed by BL/Ind. Edwin had been working, as it turned out, for a small rebel group deep in the slums, run by a man by the name of Pete Wentz. Patrick had held Edwin in his arms, the blasts of zappers outside of the titanium door that Patrick and Edwin had hidden behind as Wentz's men and the Better Living assassins duked it out. His bosses had uncovered Edwin's scheme to destroy a whole factory's worth of Better Living Emoti-Patches, and had sent men to kill him. They had obviously not expected Patrick to protect Edwin, to pull Edwin into his room just as Wentz's men rushed into the battle zone that had once been Patrick's living room. Edwin had rambled, Patrick remembered, about Ariel until his last breathe, felt against Patrick's hand as it rested against his father's cheek.

Donnie The Catcher found the two of them soon after BL/ind.'s men had been taken care of, the teenager rocking over his father's body, silent.

Orphaned, Patrick could have done many things in that moment. He could have turned them in. He could have claimed all of his father's money and possessions as his own, or he could have attacked them, forcing their hand in the matter.

Instead, Patrick allowed Donnie The Catcher to bundle him away from the corpse, to wrap a thick, bright yellow jacket around his shoulders, and take him far, far away from the upper class area of the city he'd lived in his whole life.

Patrick was whisked to the slums of Battery City, into the shadows, where he was introduced to Pete Wentz, codename Mr. Sandman.

Five years older then Patrick, Pete had been orphaned at a young age. He'd grown up under the tutelage of the late Kanye West, codename Yeezus, and Shawn Carter, codename Jay-Z. He was raised with his position in mind, molded into the perfect killer and leader. Under the hard conditions of his childhood, Patrick learned from Andy, codename Donne The Catcher, Pete developed what some considered a split personality. Sometimes, Pete was a normal kid. He was sweet and kind, carefree and rebellious, always getting into trouble. The other personality, Andy continued, had been. Different. He had gotten his codename at the age of ten, young even by the gang's standards. Mr. Sandman, as the other personality became known as, was. Wicked. Almost deranged, many had said. Yeezus and Jay-Z had nurtured both sides of Pete, never discouraging his violence and sheer crazy of Sandman, encouraging his personality as a child. As Pete grew older, he matured as well, but Sandman continued to only grow more and more deranged. When Yeezus had been killed in an attack four years before Patrick's father's murder, Pete had been sixteen. Jay-Z had barely been able to contain Sandman's explosion of rage, and Pete had quickly won the now vacant seat of the gang's leader. Many were loyal to Pete, and to Sandman as well, so it wasn't hard for others to fall in line, until finally, Wentz' had taken over the whole of the rebellion at the age of Seventeen. Jay-Z was his adviser and caretaker, until he was murdered by BL/Ind. during a standard Emoti-Patch delivery disturbance.

Patrick leaned all this over the two months he lived in the HQ before he met Pete Wentz.

Technically, he met Sandman first, but he hadn't been aware oft hat at the time...*Floaty dream sequence*

Patrick ringed his wrists a few times before scrubbing his face and sitting up in his bed. He crawled out of the small, barely comfortable mattress and slipped his shoes on before heading for the door. If he couldn't sleep, maybe a walk through the building would make him feel better. He remembered to grab that pass that Andy had told him never to lose before he left, shutting the door behind him quietly after slipping the lanyard over his head and facing the I.D. the correct way before making his way down the dark corridor. It was late so only the bare bones shift was on duty, which Patrick waved to almost nervously. He still hadn't caught everyone's name but everyone seemed to love him, some even looked at him with awe, which always made Patrick uncomfortable.

Luckily, the night shift just nodded back, or gave a small smile as he passed them.

Patrick lost track of time after awhile, he didn't know how long he'd been walking or exactly how deep into the building he'd wandered until he turned a corner and slapped right into a hard, compact chest and went reeling to the floor. The only thing that stopped him from busting his head open on the cold tile was a dark hand, catching onto his shirt and pulling him up hard. He slammed forward and collided with the stranger again, only to have two muscled, similarly dark arms covered in tattoos curl around him protectively.

"U-um, I'm so sorry, sir, I wasn't paying attention at all, I must have just lost myself, I"m so sorry, are you okay?" Patrick squeaked out, feeling a heat he'd never felt before settle low in his stomach when he looked up at the stranger's face.

Dark hair, messy and unkept, covered his head, sticking up at random angles, while tanned skin glistened with sweat from the heat of the hall and big, wide brown eyes filled his faace. They were dark brown, closed off and cold, but they didn't make Patrick want to run away, just press closer and see if the combination of his body heat and the weak in the hallway would unfrost them even a tiny bit.

His mouth was wide, almost cartoonish, but it was set in a firm, straight line. Patrick could tell his smile would be beautiful though, if he ever was lucky enough to see it.

"It's fine." Deep, flat, his voice shouldn't have made Patrick want to melt, but it did.

Patrick flushed brighter and glanced up to meet the stranger's eyes again, only to see that they were a little brighter now, and they seemed to be looking him over, making sure eh was okay, "I-oh geez, sorry again. I'm okay-if I mean, if that's what you're worried about."

The stranger's lips twitched up at the edges just a tiny bit and Patrick felt his heart jolt. Oh. Oh dear.

"Good." Was his only reply, and then the stranger was gently man-handling him around and leading him back the way he must have come.

"It isn't safe for you to be out here alone, especially at night. What happens if there is an attack?" The stranger said quietly as they walked, an almost possessive hand on Patrick's lower back, his other hand moving to grab Patrick's and hold it tight.

What.

Patrick felt himself flush brighter, "I uh. Sorry? I-I'm um, Patrick. Patrick Stump. By the way."

The stranger just twitched his lips again, what Patrick could only assume was his version of a smile, and nodded, "I know."

"I um. Can I ask who you are?"

"You can."

Patrick laughed almost reluctantly and smiled a little, "If I do, will you answer?"

"Probably not." The stranger replied as they finally entered into the area where the night duty had been stationed.

The six men on duty noticed them right away and from the looks of shock and awe on their faces, Patrick had managed to stumble into someone a little higher up on the totem pole than he had had any right to.

Especially since they were so weirdly protective of strange boys they found wandering in the halls of their secret rebel base.

"So we're being mysterious now, hm?" Patrick tried, biting his lip when the twitch happened again.

"You could say that." The stranger nodded, turing Patrick into the hallway that his own rooms were on. They walked slowly to his door, the hand that the stranger had on his lower back seemed to slide even lower for a second before it was removed, and Patrick fond himself missing the warm of it. Their hands untangled as well, which was definitely not down in Patrick's book, before the stranger slipped a skeleton key into Patrick's lock and clicked it open, gently pushing Patrick into the darkness.

"Don't wander at night anymore, got it?"

"Um, y-yeah, I got it."

The stranger seemed to pause as he thought of something before his hands went to one of the pockets of his black jacket-the jagged bottom of which trailed across the floor while some of the splits in the fabric went all the way to his hips-and produced a thin, clear tele-municator.

"If you do get the urge to wander, alert me first so the guards at least know to watch out. Pete would be...severely upset if something were to...happen to you."

The look in the at ranger's eyes made Patrick shiver, because the look seemed to imply that Pete would not be the only one upset if Patrick got himself into trouble.

Before he could do anything other then nod and accept the tele-municator, Patrick's stranger had turned away and walked away.

"Wait!" Patrick finally got the courage to call, "what can I call you, if not your name?"

The stranger turned and smirked over at him, "Everyone just calls me Mr. Sandman."

And he disappeared as Patrick's knees went weak.

He hadn't slept that night at all, just set in the dark, cocooned in warmth, thinking about that look in Sandman's eyes, those small twitches of what was definitely smiles on his lips.

Patrick was woken from a dreamless doze at 9:00 a.m. by a soft, hesitant knocking on his door.

He opened it after stumbling from his head only to be shoved inside again as Sandman flew inside, more animated, more emotional, and definitely not the man that Patrick had met last night.

This was Pete.

"I'm so sorry, Patrick, he wasn't even supposed to know you were here until I'd had the chance to talk to you first, or at least have him explained, he must have scared you, are you okay? I'm Pete."

He spoke so fast, his speech pattern so much different from Sandman that Patrick almost couldn't reconcile that they were one and the same, the cold brown eyes now warm chocolate and the strict line of his mouth now expressive, frowning with worry, his tanned features reflecting emotion and not just blankness.

"H-hello." Patrick said after a moment where he fought threw drowsy thought and fixed Pete's speech into proper words.

"Um. I'm Patrick? And I'm fine. What are you talking about?"

Pete seemed to deflate, a small, fond smile coming over his face, the look so much different from last night that it almost made Patrick want to sit down.

"I know, Patrick. I've known who you were for awhile now. Edwin spoke of you often."

Patrick didn't know what to do with either the mention of his father, who he mourned in the way he would mourn a nice enough neighbor, nor the information associated with it since as far as he knew, Edwin could not help to despise Patrick.

Instead, Patrick focused on parsing out why Pete was here.

"Um. Not to be rude. But what are you doing here at....nine in the morning? We've never spoken before."

Pete seemed to wince, then set on Patrick's bed.

"Did you meet Sandman last night?"

Patrick blushed, then nodded.

"Did he hurt you?" Pete looked suddenly furious, as if he'd fight Sandman if it meant attacking himself to do it, so Patrick shook his head hard.

"Oh no, no, no! I was off wandering and I got a little lost. He just took me back to my room. And he gave me this."

Patrick hesitated then picked up the tele-municator and handed it to Pete.

"He um. He said you'd be really upset if something happened to me?

Pete flushed a bit but nodded, "He doesn't want to admit it, but we'd both be very upset if something happened to you."

Patrick frowned.

"Why? Everyone around here keeps implying that I'm like. I'm like important to you? Or something. I've never even met you, man."

The older man signed and looked down and Patrick was again struck by just how different he and Mr. Sandman were, how Pete's emotions came through in his voice and his face, while Sandman was a blank stare and stoic features.

"I." Pete began, then stopped, biting his lip as he thought for a moment, "Edwin and my mentors, Jeezus and Jay-Z, had been working together for years. You were born, five years after me, into a world that was much deeper then you could have realized, even as you grew older. Your mother was close to Jeezus, Edwin actually met her through him. After you were born and she died, Edwin grew distant. It soon became apparent that he wasn't as protective of you as he needed to be. Jeezus and Jay-Z cared for aunt Ariel very much. I don't remember her well, but I remember that she was kind and caring."

Pete glanced up quickly at Patrick, then pulled his eyes back down to his shoes.

"They were fond of you too, you know? They wanted you safe. So that became my first mission."

"/I/ was your first mission!?"

Patrick felt his eyes widen and his face slid into shock. All this time, he'd been so close to the rebellion he'd always dreamed of joining, all this time he hadn't been nearly as alone as he'd always felt.

"Yes." Pete nodded, and Patrick noted that now that Patrick wasn't flipping out like Pete had probably expected him too, the older man could actually meet his eye.

"I was in charge of making sure you got home safely, that no one bothered you when you snuck out. You were my responsibility. At first, anyway. I took over leadership when I was seventeen. Yeezus died and Jay-Z was an advisor only. He had a family, you know? He couldn’t put them in that position, being second best to the rebellion. So I took over. I had to assign you to someone else. Someone that was more your age, you know? So I sent you Joe.”


End file.
